An Exercise in Teamwork
by Frootkake Productions
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid has always enjoyed magic tricks, but he knows that that's all they are: tricks. So how will he and the rest of the BAU team deal with a demon on the loose?
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at Criminal Minds and Supernatural fanfics. Hopefully you don't hate them too much. This is also the first story I've written in awhile, so the skills are a bit musty.

Chapter One: The BAU

The sun shone through the Venetian blinds. It was 8 A.M. and Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid was already on his second cup of coffee. He had been having trouble sleeping lately, plagued by strange dreams he could not understand. Even now, as he stared out the window at the cityscape, he was trying to twist the threads back into the tapestry that made sense while he was asleep. So far, all he could remember was a dark, soundless space, and the sense that he was not alone.

"Reid, conference room," Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner said as he walked by.

"Good morning to you, too," Reid muttered, before taking a long swig of coffee gloomily. He stopped at the pot for a refill.

Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau waited until the team was seated before beginning the description of their new assignment. "There are three victims so far in Salt Lake City, Utah. As you can see, each victim appears to have committed suicide," she said, as she gestured towards the photographs hanging behind her. She stressed the word "appears".

SSA Derek Morgan studied the photographs intently from his seat at the conference table. To his left, Reid was stirring sugar into his third cup of morning coffee. Hotch, David Rossi, and Emily Prentiss were also listening intently.

Morgan frowned at Reid. It was evident on the young man's face that he was severely lacking in the sleep department this morning. He had seen Reid practically chug his first mug of coffee as soon as he'd wandered into the office. Morgan was worried about his friend; he decided to keep a silent watch on him for the rest of the day, and to try to drag whatever was bothering Reid out of him by the day's end.

Reid caught Morgan staring at him, and arched his eyebrow. His mouth was set in a pout; the overall impression was a challenge to ask what was up so that he could shoot Morgan down. For some reason, Reid decided he would feel better if he got to tell someone off that morning, and that it might as well be Morgan because the worst reaction he would actually give was an eye roll.

Morgan gave his head a slight shake, then turned his attention back to JJ and the case brief.

JJ indicated the first photo on the right. "Lisa Romano, thirty-two, found hanging in the bathroom by her husband when he arrived home from work." She tapped the second photograph. "Albert Ralph, twenty-seven, found in the bathtub by his four-year-old son, his wrists slashed." JJ then pointed at the third photograph. "Stephanie Morrow, twenty-four, found by her roommate, and supposedly dead of a drug overdose."

"And what makes them _not_ suicides?" asked Reid, stirring his coffee. It was almost empty; he hoped the briefing would be over soon so he could get another one. Coffee was his friend. The eyelids that kept threatening to sink shut were not.

"Exactly. These all seem pretty obvious to me," Prentiss added.

"Well, besides the fact that none of these victims had any indication of depression or suicidal behaviour prior to being found dead, there's this," JJ explained as she spread some autopsy pictures on the table. "Each victim's eyes are missing."

"Trophies," Reid replied, wrinkling his nose slightly at the empty eye sockets in the photos. He still hated seeing crime scene photos.

"That's what local PD thinks."

"What's the time frame on these deaths, JJ?" Hotch asked.

"All three died in the last two weeks. The first, Romano, died on Friday the Thirteenth. Ralph died three days later, and Morrow, three days after that."

"If this is a serial killer, then the unsub will strike again tomorrow," Rossi said, a hint of frustration in his voice. He knew it was unlikely the Behavioural Analysis Unit could catch the killer in time.

"When do we leave?" Morgan asked.

"Immediately," Hotch said. "There's no time to waste."

"Great," Reid said, getting up. "I'll just grab some coffee for the trip!"

Hotch exchanged a look with Morgan, as the young agent practically skipped out of the room.

"Is he alright?" Rossi wondered.

"Clearly, he's exhausted," Prentiss replied.

"We could tell him to stay behind with Garcia," Rossi suggested, looking at Hotch.

The other man shook his head. "No, we're going to need him on this. Let's just all try to let him sleep on the flight out to Salt Lake City."

Reid poured the coffee with shaking hands. As he was pouring, he noticed a young woman's face reflected in the coffee pot. He looked over his shoulder quickly, but no one was there. He scowled at the pot. "Not funny," he said, when the reflection did not reappear.

"Reid?" Morgan asked. "You coming?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I was just…" He motioned with the coffee pot.

Morgan nodded. "That stuff'll stunt your growth, kid,"

Reid frowned at first, but then realized that Morgan was teasing him again. "Width-wise, I suppose. I'm already awkwardly tall." He put the coffee pot down, and followed Morgan, with a quick stop in his office to grab his bag.

"Any thought on this case so far?"

"Unsub's going out of his way to cover up what he's really up to," Reid shrugged. "It's too early to say much else."

Morgan nodded. "How about you leave that coffee here, so you can try to sleep on the plane?"

"It's much too late for that, Padawan," Reid stopped in his tracks. "I don't know why I just called you that."

"'Cause you're a geek," Morgan supplied.

"Oh, right. I forgot."

Morgan smacked Reid playfully in the shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Winchesters

It was a sunny, birds-chirping-in-the-trees sort of day, as Dean Winchester sped along the highway toward Salt Lake City in his baby, a 1967 Chevy Impala. His brother, Sam, was sitting next to him, his face scrunched up in pain. Dean wanted to empathize, but after the drama of the last few days, his sympathy level was at an all-time low towards his younger sibling. And "Hot for Teacher" was swimming through the speakers. These moments of peace were to be cherished, not spent wondering what was wrong with poor little Sammy. Again.

Sam closed his eyes as he massaged his temples. He had a rampaging headache, and despite the fact that it was two in the afternoon, all he wanted to do was curl up in a bed, throw the covers over his head, and ignore the world. He had already turned down the volume on Van Halen twice, but Dean kept insisting on turning it back up.

He was dreaming again, the horrible premonitious types: a dark room, deafening silence, and the certainty that they had to go to Utah. Dean hated this vague venture, but he trusted his brother enough to give in to his insistence that they hurry.

Sam went for the volume knob again, but Dean grabbed his wrist with lightning speed.

"Do not touch my stereo."

"Dean, seriously. I feel like there are Fraggles banging drums in my head! This isn't helping!"

Dean sighed, turning the stereo down. "Then tell me something. Give me some more info. Can you remember anything else? Your visions better not be sending us on a wild goose chase."

"It's not a goose chase. I know it. Like, in my bones," Sam replied sheepishly.

"Well then…?" Dean prompted.

Well…there's this charm. A good luck charm, maybe. I see it just before I wake up. It's a pentagonal gold medallion with a rabbit's foot in the centre."

"Like a logo for something?"

Sam nodded, which sent another wave of pain accompanied by nausea to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut again, pressing his palm to his forehead.

"Take a nap," Dean suggested flatly.

"It's not fatigue. It's…I don't know what it is."

"It's fatigue. Trust me; I'm not dumb. I know you've barely slept since that faerie-"

"Stop. Don't remind me," Sam said with a shudder.

"I'm just sayin', I know you're still freaked out and add to that the stress of seeing the future, so just take a nap."

"Dean—"

"You're scarin' me, Sammy. We've got two more hours of driving. Just put your seat back and get some rest. I'll continue to harass you when we get there, okay?" Dean said with a rare note of concern in his voice.

Sam regarded his brother suspiciously for a moment. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. I'll try to nap."

"Thank you,"

Dean pulled into the first slightly dingy-looking motel he saw with a "vacancy" light on outside. He parked the car, and went inside to charter a room for a few days. When he came back out, Sam was leaning against the side of the Impala, staring down the road into the city.

"Nap good?"

Sam shrugged. "I think there are rats in my brain, trying to escape."

Dean frowned, then offered Sam a room key. "So, I'm thinking FBI on this one. Sound good?"

"Sure, whatever."

Sam got his knapsack and messenger bag out of the car. He followed Dean to their room in gloomy silence. He had fallen asleep in the car, and had another dream. This one was very vivid: two hands reaching out from that deep, utter darkness and a voice begging for mercy. Adding to that, Sam's head still pounded with unbridled fervour.

"Homely," Dean said, jerking Sam back to the present.

Sam looked at the small room, after he'd kicked off his shoes. It was your basic motel room: two beds; one bathroom with the sink next to the closet; a small TV with rabbit ears sitting atop it; a nightstand with a lamp; a dresser; and an air-conditioner that said it was out of order.

He claimed the bed closest to the bathroom; he wasn't comfortable sleeping next to the window. Sam pulled out his laptop, and doggedly set to work digging up articles about the strange killings that had happened over the last couple of weeks.

"Look, Sam, maybe you should just go to sleep. We can do research tomorrow."

Sam looked up at Dean. He was too tired to coat his face with any sort of expression.

"Seriously."

"What are you going to do? It's still early…"

"I'll scope out the area and see what I can dig up from talking to the locals. Don't worry about me, Sammy." He flashed his brother a trademark grin. "I know how to stay out of trouble. And _get_ out of trouble, when the need arises."

Sam closed his laptop and placed it under his bed. Sleep was what he needed, but would his dreams let him get any rest? His heavy eyelids protested having to stay open. "Fine,"

Dean gave Sam a salute, as he backed toward the door. He was very careful to shut it soundlessly.

Sam crawled under the covers without even taking off his socks.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and for your patience. I didn't expect to be away from my computer all weekend! Here's the next chapter…**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own any of the characters I'm borrowing from **_**Criminal Minds **_**or **_**Supernatural.**_

Chapter 3: The BAU

Hotch briskly introduced the BAU team to Sheriff Joe Baker, Deputy Keith Reynolds, and officers Lisa Dobbie, Cathy Little, and Reggie Sutherland. After the traditional exchange of gruff pleasantries, they got down to business.

"We've spoken to the second victim's wife about possible enemies, but she says there weren't any," Baker said. "The first vic's husband won't talk to us. The third one's roommate wasn't very helpful with her information. The two barely knew each other, it seems."

Hotch nodded. "We'll need to visit the crime scenes."

"Of course. I can set you up with my officers here to drive you around, or whatever you need. I'm not ashamed to tell you this whole thing is damned terrifying. Who takes a person's eyes?"

Reid started to answer, but bit his tongue. He did not feel like being the smartest man in the room today. He went over to the bulletin board the PD had set up with photos of the victims and the scenes where they were found. Next to the morgue pictures were ones that must have been given to the police by the family, as each was a snapshot of the victim in happier times.

The familiar knot formed in Reid's stomach as he studied the crime scene pictures. There was a lot of blood. The empty eye sockets reminded him of the darkness in his dreams. He gasped and turned away.

Morgan was standing right behind him. "What are you thinking, Reid?"

Reid swallowed nervously. "Uh…" he stuttered as he tried to calm his pounding heart. "Um, wounds on Romano's and Morrow's arms appear to be from self-defence, which rules out suicide for sure." He turned slowly to face the board. He leaned a little closer to the disturbing photographs, letting his mind wander over the details. "Multiple shallow cuts to their faces shows that the unsub was torturing them before he killed them."

"Do you think the unsub knew them?"

Reid shook his head. "Not likely, but if the unsub knew them, then the victims would have likely known each other, as well. We could show their pictures to their relatives. I'll need to read PD's files, but I don't think these killings were that…personal. They seem to be random. The victims have nothing in common: different ages, genders, tax brackets, home life…" Reid shrugged. "I don't know," he concluded.

Morgan regarded the younger agent askance. "Where's your head at today?"

"Um, awkwardly attached to my neck, as it always is?"

Morgan chuckled as he shook his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Reid sighed heavily. "I haven't been sleeping well…or at all," he stated, flipping up the edge of a post-it note on the board.

"Yeah, I know. I saw you drinking coffee this morning. So what's up?"

"Bad dreams."

"Do you need to talk about them?"

Reid shook his head. "Naw, it's not a big deal."

"It's been—"

"Almost a year. It's not Henkel, Morgan. Honest. They don't really make sense, they're just really quite ugly. And dark."

"Fair enough. I don't think dreams are ever supposed to make sense. But you know, if you change your mind and want to talk, I'll listen."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Hotch broke in on their conversation. "Find anything?"

"Not really," Reid said, a note of defeat in his voice.

"All right. Morgan, you and I are going to Romano's home. Reid, stay here with JJ and go through what the PD have collected about the victims. There has to be something connecting them; find it. I don't have to tell you that the clock is ticking on this one, and I don't want another body on our watch."

Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder, before following Hotch out to the SUV parked at the curb.

"Agent?"

Reid turned slightly towards the female voice.

Dobbie was standing to his left with a box of files. "This is what we've gathered so far, if you want to take a look,"

Reid nodded, and followed her to a table. He sat down, took the first file his groping fingers latched onto, and began to read.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Thanks for the reviews! Here's an extra long chapter to reward your patience.**

**Chapter 4: The Winchesters**

It was dark. So dark he could not even see his hand in front of his face. So dark that if anything else was present, he wouldn't know until it was too late. So dark that the only thing he was certain of was the solid ground beneath his feet.

"Hello?" he called out.

His voice did not echo in the void, but instead was swallowed into the nothing around him.

"Dean?" he said in a much smaller voice.

He waited uncertainly for something to appear, for a light to come on, for someone to speak to him out of the void. This was, afterall, another dream.

When nothing happened, he reached out with both arms, and cautiously began to move forward. The ground did not shake beneath him, nor did his footsteps echo off any walls. Where ever he was, it was a vast, black, open space.

He counted 13 steps before his foot stepped off the edge, and he fell.

Sam sat up straight, sweat glistening on his forehead. He was on the floor, tangled in blankets, and gasping for breath. He kicked himself free, and then went to the bathroom to splash water on his face. He knew, as he stared into his own brown eyes in the mirror, that the dream had shown him what it would be like to be blind, as the victims were rendered when their eyes were removed in the case he and Dean were working on. Sam splashed more cold water on his face, willing the chill in his spine away.

He dried himself off. Sam looked at the wall clock as he flipped open his laptop. 5:30: He'd been asleep for nearly an hour. Seeing no sign of take-out remnants, he knew Dean had not been back yet. Sam ordered himself not to worry, as he typed in a new search option: "psychics in Salt Lake City". 11 businesses came up within seconds. He clicked in the first link, and began his search for a rabbit foot in a gold pentagon logo.

~~*~~

Dean watched from his black 1967 Chevy Impala as two men, one Caucasian in an expensive suit, the other, African-American in a black T-shirt and jeans, walked up the driveway of Lisa Romano's home. They were clearly special agents, most likely called in by local police to help with the case. At least Sam had been right; there was something big at work here. The agents entered the home without a backward glance. Once they were out of sight, Dean started the car and drove to the next victim's house.

Dean stopped across the street from Albert Ralph's house. There was a black SUV parked in front of him, identical to the one at Romano's. Feeling more than a little miffed that agents had beaten him to another crime scene, Dean drove on, but not before making eye contact with a gorgeous brunette standing on Ralph's doorstep.

"I'll take door number three, Alex," Dean muttered to himself, as he continued down the street.

With no SUV in sight, Dean parked the Impala in the visitor's section of the lot at Stephanie Morrow's former apartment building. He rifled through the many fake I.D.'s in the glove compartment, picked out an FBI badge, and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. He checked the clock: 4:56. He hoped Sammy was fast asleep.

Dean buzzed apartment 436, and waited until a wary voice answered gruffly, "What?"

"Sorry to interrupt ma'am. I'm Special Agent Fogerty with the FBI. I'd like to talk to you about your roommate," Dean said.

There was an audible sigh, and then the door clicked. Dean went inside and to the elevator.

A woman in her mid-twenties stood in the hall waiting for him as he stepped off the elevator. She was wearing jeans and a white tank top, and her brown hair trailed halfway down her back in a French braid. "I've already done an interview with the police. Isn't that enough?" Her blue eyes spoke of frustration.

Dean offered his hand to her. "Agent Fogerty," he said, flashing his badge with the other.

She shook it reluctantly. "Jenessa Cuddy,"

"Ms Cuddy, did Stephanie have any enemies?"

"Not that I know of."

"What about—"

Jenessa held up her hand to stop him mid-sentence. "As far as I know, she wasn't seeing anyone, hadn't for a long time. She kept to herself mostly; we really didn't have anything in common, so we rarely spoke to one another. She was very focused on school; good grades were more important to her than hanging out with friends—or making any. I have no idea who would have attacked her like that. Anything else?"

"You think she was attacked?"

"Her eyes were torn out of their sockets. Police never found them, either. I hope to God that I don't. I have these horrible thoughts that one of these days they're going to roll out from under her bed or something."

"Would you mind if I had a look around?"

"The police already did. But I guess so," Jenessa conceded, leading the way to her apartment. "You won't find anything new," she said over her shoulder, as she unlocked the door.

"You know what they say about a fresh pair of eyes." Dean was wincing at his own words before they'd finished leaving his mouth.

"Bad turn of phrase, Agent,"

"Yeah,"

"This was her side. Those are her boxes. Police said I could pack up her things." Jenessa indicated three cardboard boxes stacked on the empty bed. "If you don't mind, I have some reading to do."

"Sure." Dean went over to the bed. He looked under it, but saw only dust bunnies. Next, he opened the top box. Inside was a few knick-knacks wrapped in newspaper. He moved on to the second box. Inside was a bunch of loose papers with mathematic formulae scrawled in neat handwriting. He pulled out all the papers and set them aside. At the bottom of the box was an envelope of pictures. Dean pulled them out and had a look. He recognized Stephanie in three of them; she was with Jenessa in two of them, and another woman in the other. The next in the series was a landscape, then a dog, an empty staircase, and finally, a handsome man in his twenties.

Dean showed the picture to Jenessa. "Classmate?"

She turned to look. "T.A.," she answered simply.

"Does he have a name?"

"Paige Baker,"

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"Ask at Student Services. They can give you a phone number."

Dean nodded. He set the pictures aside, intending to take them with him. He sifted through the last box, but it was mostly textbooks.

"Thanks for your help." Dean headed for the door. He stopped to ask Jenessa one more question, "Did Stephanie ever show interest in the Occult, or supernatural things of any kind?"

"Sure. She used to go to a psychic every Saturday afternoon. Celeste…something. I used to have her card in my wallet. Let me check." Jenessa pulled a few items from her purse, digging her wallet out of the bottom. "Steph swore this woman was the real deal, but I never went. It's all a scam, no matter how convincing they are. Here,"

Dean took the business card from Jenessa. "Thanks again,"

"You're welcome. I hope you find the guy that's doing this."

Dean nodded, then left. When he got to the car, he looked at the business card: _Celeste's Astrology Emporium._ It was almost 5:30, so Dean decided to do a quick drive-by, then take some food back to the motel for him and Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A slight AU has come into play. The Winchesters have not yet been caught by any authorities. This may not actually interfere with keeping it somewhat canon, but I'm too lazy to check lol.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5: The BAU

Inside Lisa Romano's home, Morgan and Hotch were re-imagining the time and manner of the woman's death. There was no blood in any room other than the bathroom, where she had been found by her husband. Morgan stood on the toilet seat, trying to get a better look at the light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. There were still strands of rope tangled around the screws holding it in place. Hotch handed him a mini flashlight.

"So, what do you think is up with Reid?" Morgan asked Hotch, trying to sound casual, as he unwound some fibres to place in the Ziploc bag the other officer held in his gloved hand.

"Reid? Nothing. Why?"

"You don't think he's a little off his game?"

"You do?"

Morgan sighed. "Yeah, I do,"

Hotch closed the bag. He remained silent, as he and Morgan went out into the hallway. He went into the Romanos' bedroom. The sheets were crumpled, as if someone had just gotten out of bed and left them as they fell. Nothing else was amiss.

"How do you think the unsub got in?" Hotch asked, as he looked out the window. The tree in the front yard was too far away to have climbed in through the window, and its branches were not strong enough to support an average-sized adult.

"Reid said the victims may have known the unsub. He or she could have walked in through the front door."

Hotch nodded. "I have to say that's got to be it. There's no sign of forced entry here. I wonder…"

"What?"

"Lisa Romano didn't struggle until she was already in the bathroom, otherwise there'd be blood elsewhere in the house, and there isn't. However, she was also dry and fully clothed, so she wasn't bathing…" Hotch flipped his phone out and dialled Reid in one swift motion.

"_Hello?"_

"Reid, what time is the T.O.D. on Romano?"

"_Uhhh…hang on, it's here somewhere,"_

Hotch glanced at Morgan, who was looking through some pictures on the dresser.

"_Got it, OK, Lisa Romano died at approximately 5:00 p.m."_

"And what time did her husband say he found her?"

"_Hmmm…doesn't say, but the 9-1-1 call came in at quarter after."_

"Right, thanks. Have you heard from Prentiss and Rossi?"

"_Nothing yet,"_

"Have you found a link?"

There was a pause on the line before Reid muttered, _"No,"_

"Keep looking," Hotch said, before hanging up.

"What are you thinking, Hotch?"

"Either this woman killed herself—"

"Which we know she didn't,"

"—or her husband did."

~~*~~

Prentiss frowned as the '67 Impala pulled away from the curb. "Did you see that guy?"

"Guy?" Rossi turned back inside the doorway.

"KAZ 2Y5, black Impala. The driver looked right at me as he drove off."

Rossi shrugged with a smirk.

"Not like that," she said with an air of exasperation. "Like he was frustrated about something."

"KAZ 2Y5," Rossi repeated the license plate number. "Garcia can track down the owner."

Prentiss was already on her phone.

Rossi proceeded into the home. It was sparsely furnished; a worn brown couch faced a coffee table and medium-sized television set with a VCR plugged into it. There was only one bookshelf. The bottom two shelves were filled with VHS films ranging from _Babar the Movie_ to _Under Seige._ The other three shelves were loaded with Western novels.

"Ralph's kid is—what?—four?" Prentiss asked.

"Yeah,"

She shook her head sadly, and then moved on into the kitchen. In a basket on the counter was a handful of business cards: Milton's Garage; Dr. Leonard Kelley, dentist; Pete's Video; and Celeste's Astrology Emporium.

"Anything?"

"Nah, just some cards,"

"It's so odd that there's no sign of a break in or struggle."

"Maybe Reid's right about the victims knowing their assailant," Prentiss suggested.

"It certainly seems so. Did Garcia get a name for the driver of that Impala?" he asked.

"She's going to call me back when she does,"

Rossi nodded. "I'm going to look upstairs."

"Hey, Rossi?"

He turned, an inquisitive look on his face.

"Is this case giving you the creeps like it is me?"

He smiled inscrutably, and shrugged. "Too soon to tell,"

~~*~~

Reid scowled at the desk. He was missing something, that much he knew, but thinking about it was giving him a headache. He rubbed his temples and groaned.

"Everything alright?" Officer Dobbie asked him.

"Could I get some Aspirin, please?"

Dobbie left, after a curt nod.

Reid pulled the reports on the three victims closer to himself. He stared at the paper until the black letters pooled into one big blob across his vision. Realising he was falling asleep, and it was only 4:10 in the afternoon, Reid got up out of the chair and paced the room a few times. He jumped up and down, shaking his hands, and cracking his neck. All the while, he knew that Aspirin wasn't going to be enough. He needed to sleep.

The young FBI agent stood over the open files, running his fingers through his unkempt brown hair. It was obvious, the thing he was missing. He just had to keep his focus.

Dobbie returned with two pills and a paper cup full of water. Reid accepted the remedy gratefully. After swallowing the Aspirins, he sat down again and re-read Romano's brief biographical information. _Date of Birth: March 13, 1977._ Reid frowned. He grabbed Ralph's file. _Date of Birth: September 13, 1982._ And Morrow's: _June 13, 1985._

Dobbie followed Reid out of the corner office to a computer. He googled calendars, and quickly made a discovery that he felt was significant.

Reid called Rossi on his cellphone. "I found a link. All three victims were born on Friday the thirteenths."

~~*~~

Rossi closed his phone after Reid's call.

"News?" Prentiss asked.

"Apparently, all of our victims were born on Friday the thirteenth."

Prentiss went back into the kitchen, where she had found the stack of business cards. When she returned, she was holding the one from Celeste's Astrology Emporium. "Then maybe this is significant, afterall."

Rossi dialled Hotch's cell. "Yeah, Hotch, have you found any evidence that Romano may have been seeing a psychic?...Reid said our victims were all born on Friday the thirteenth. Prentiss found a business card for Celeste's Astrology Emporium, and I think we should check it out…Right,"

He pocketed the phone. "He and Morgan are going to pick up Reid and then go see Celeste," he told Prentiss.

"It's amazing how many people are taken in by psychics."

"A skeptic, eh Prentiss?" he teased.

"Oh absolutely."

~~*~~

Morgan rapped on the car window to awaken the sleeping Reid in the backseat. Reid scowled at him through the glass.

Morgan opened Reid's door for him. "Come on, princess. Time to go to work."

"Don't make fun of me," Reid snapped. "I haven't quit working in…in…weeks." His head still ached enough that solid things shimmered before his eyes. He was keenly aware of both Hotch's and Morgan's eyes on his back as he went into Celeste's Astrology Emporium without ringing the doorbell.

The shop itself stood between a doughnut shop and a hardware store. It was a modest one-storey building with the store's name and logo brilliantly painted on a hanging sign over the stairs leading to the front door.

Reid stopped just inside to allow his eyes to acknowledge their new environment. Through the beaded curtain to his left, he could see that a dark blind covered the bay window at the back of that side of the room. In front of the window stood a table and two chairs. There was no such fortune-teller staple as a deck of tarot cards or crystal ball on top of the table. Instead, its wooden surface was bare.

To Reid's right were the for-sale items: scented candles filled two shelves on a bookcase; books about astrology took up the next shelf; and decks of varying sizes of tarot cards and a basket of crystals took up the top shelf. A cash register sat patiently on a small desk.

Lamps provided the only light, leaving the whole place in shadows.

"Can I help you, Agent?"

Reid jumped at the sudden voice at his side. "Shouldn't you know that already?" He winced at the snarkiness in his own voice. "Sorry…"

"It's alright." She offered him her hand. "I'm Celeste,"

Reid shook it gently, forcing a smile. "Spencer…Reid, agent—doctor." He looked away self-consciously. The way her hazel eyes were gazing steadily at him made him oddly uncomfortable.

"I'm Agent Hotchner, and this is Agent Morgan," Hotch said gruffly.

Reid had not even noticed that they were standing behind him.

Celeste shook hands with the other two agents. Reid stole a glance at her while she was distracted. Her honey-coloured hair was French-braided, and hung just below her shoulder blades. She was the same height as him, and slender. He guessed she liked to run. Then Reid noticed the smirk on Morgan's face and he blushed.

"Did you know Lisa Romano, Albert Ralph, and Stephanie Morrow? Were they clients of yours?" Hotch asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Celeste nodded. "Yes, they were clients of mine."

"And are you aware that all three have died in the last two weeks?"

She nodded again. "Stephie had an appointment for Saturday afternoon. She always did. Only missed one in two years."

"How old are you?" Reid broke in.

"Twenty-five,"

"How long have you been a corner store psychic?" Morgan asked.

"Almost four years," Celeste answered calmly.

Reid went farther into the store side. He still listened to Hotch and Morgan's line of questioning, but there was something unsettling familiar about this place. Or Celeste. He pocketed one of the business cards from the stack on the desk next to the cash register. He inspected the shelves for dust and found none.

Hotch asked Celeste, "When was the last time you saw the three victims?"

"I saw Lisa at the grocery store last Thursday afternoon. Al hadn't been in for awhile; I haven't heard from him in a few weeks. And Stephie was here last Saturday at 2:30 p.m., as usual."

"Did Ms. Morrow seem upset to you, or act at all out of the ordinary during her visit?"

"No," she said, and Reid caught a twinge of sadness.

"Did you tell her she was going to die this week?"

"Of course not!" The first colour of emotion entered Celeste's voice. "If I had known then, I would have tried to protect her."

Reid glanced at her over his shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. He frowned at his own emotional response. Why was he feeling such a connection to this woman he had just met? He wanted to leave; just go back to the hotel and get some sleep. His head was in a strange and uncomfortable space. He wanted coffee. Or a doughnut. He picked up a crystal and held it up to the lamp.

"You should put in a chandelier or something, to add more light," Reid said absently. When he realized he'd spoken his thought out loud, he cringed a bit.

"My clients like the ambiance of the dark. It's more mystical," Celeste explained. Reid could feel her eyes on his back. "The shop next door has good coffee."

He turned his head, mouth agape. Had he said that out loud, too?

"How could you have protected her?" Morgan wanted to know.

Celeste focused her attention back on Morgan. "I would have told her not to be at home that night."

"Would she have listened?" Hotch asked.

"Yes,"

"She trusted you?"

"Yes,"

"Did Lisa Romano and Albert Ralph trust you, too?"

"Yes,"

"How can you be so sure?"

"The same way I'm sure your first name is Aaron, that you have a son named Jack, and that your brother Sean wants to be a chef."

"You could have found that information on the Internet, if you knew where to look."

"Then I would have had to know you were coming," she countered.

"You don't have to play the psychic for us," Morgan returned. "This is an investigation into the hard facts of what happened to these people; there's nothing supernatural about it."

"There's something very supernatural about it; that's why it is hidden from me. There are many shadows along _your_ path."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Morgan. Take it easy," Reid said, standing beside Celeste.

She looked at him askance, a slight smile on her face.

Hotch didn't miss the little exchange. "If you think of anything, you can contact us through the local PD office. And you'll be here if we need to contact you?"

"Of course," she said, meeting his steady glare.

Hotch nodded, and then turned to go. Morgan followed him out, then Reid. The younger agent stopped and turned back. He still had the crystal in his hand. When he offered it to her, she closed his fingers around it.

"Keep it; it'll help you sleep," Celeste said softly.

"I need that,"

She was still holding his hand between both of hers. He looked up into her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Spence,"

He frowned at her in confusion—and not because she had called him by the nickname only JJ used. "For what?"

"You should go." She released his hand, and backed away.

"It was nice to meet you," he said lamely.

She smiled that quiet smile at him. "We'll see each other again."

For whatever reason, that little statement made him feel better. He left the shop, to get into the car with his fellow agents.

"What the hell was that?" Morgan turned on Reid before he even had his seatbelt on.

"I—" Reid's retort died on his lips. "I don't know," he admitted. "I felt safe in there and you were attacking her and I'm tired and my head is killing me. Is this day over yet?"

"I told you he's off his game," Morgan muttered to Hotch, but Reid heard.

They drove back to the police station in silence. Reid watched the clock on the dashboard: 5:37, 5:38, 5:39...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Winchesters**

Dean had to knock on the door, or risk losing either the tray of drinks or the boxes of Thai take-out. It took mere moments for Sam to let him in.

"Thank God," Sam breathed, taking the boxes of food. He set them on the small table under the window.

"Tell me you had a nap," Dean said gruffly, eying the open laptop suspiciously.

Sam shrugged. "A short one,"

Dean decided not to pushi him on that issue. Instead, he grinned, saying, "I found that logo you've been dreaming about." He locked the door behind him.

"Yeah, me, too,"

"Oh." He set the drinks down with the food. "What time was it?"

"Huh?"

"When you found the logo, what time was it?"

Sam unwrapped a set of chopsticks. "I…I dunno," he shrugged. "A few minutes ago?"

"Like, just before I showed up?" Dean pressed for more information, as he, too, unwrapped chopsticks.

The younger of the brothers shrugged again. "Pretty close,"

"Ha! Then I found it first!"

Sam rolled his eyes, and then dug into the noodles in the box nearest him. Dean remained smug as he ate.

"Where?" Sam finally asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him. As much as he liked to think of himself as the mature one, he still resented when Dean beat him at anything.

"Where what?"

"Where did you find the logo?"

"Business card." Dean produced the piece of cardboard from his pocket and flipped it onto the table. "Morrow's roommate gave it to me. Said Morrow used to go there once a week."

Sam nodded. "I guess I know where we're going tomorrow."

"D'you think this Celeste's legit?"

"Only one way to find out for sure. The comments on her website are from people who believe in her. Not that that's ever an accurate indicator. Although…"

"Although?"

Sam hesitated, not meeting Dean's gaze. Dean waited, obnoxiously slurping the last of his Coke through the straw.

"It's just a feeling," Sam mumbled.

"You…feel that she's legit?"

Sam shrugged. He met Dean's steady gaze briefly, then looked away again. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in front of his brother, Sam took the empty food boxes and Dean's cup to throw in the trash can under the sink near the other door.

Dean watched Sam closely. The signs of fatigue lingered, and he could tell something else was plaguing his brother's mind. It was in the odd way Sam was fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves. "You gonna tell me what's up now? Or do I have to keep guessing?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean said, "What did you dream about during your nap?"

Sam shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "Just that I was blind."

"Oh,"

"And then I was falling…"

"I dream about falling all the time. It's no biggie,"

Sam sat down in front of his laptop. Dean took this to mean that their conversation was over. He rolled his eyes, before getting up and relocating to the bed. He flipped on the TV, and settled in to watch _The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle._

Sam opened Spider Solitaire on his laptop. He was in no shape for concentrating on research, but he wanted to avoid talking to Dean. He kept glancing at his brother, who was thoroughly enjoying _Fractured Fairy Tales_. Sam could not get the knot out of his stomach—the one his most recent dream had left there. He gave up on his game, and closed his laptop.

"I'm going for a walk," Sam declared.

"Whatever,"

Sam was hoping for more of a response, but grabbed his coat and went outside nonetheless. He took a deep breath of the cool evening air. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he set out at a leisurely pace. The occasional car passed him, but other than that the street was empty. Not a soul shared the sidewalk with him on this or the other side of the street. He had expected it to be busier at this time of the day because most people should have been on their way home from work. Chalking it up to the fact this he had turned down a side street rather than staying on the main drag in front of the hotel, Sam continued on, as the lights overhead blinked to life to illuminate the way.

He needed to clear his head—he _wanted_ to clear his head—but he kept coming back to his dreams. Had he been blind because the victims were, or because he was in danger, too? Who had been whispering in the dark?

Sam forced himself to think about the case instead. What sort of supernatural creature was this guy? A demon was the obvious answer. There was no evidence of an animal attack; a witch or spell was unlikely; and spirits were out of the equation entirely, as far as he was concerned. From what he'd read in the online news clippings, none of the victims even knew each other. He sighed. When he got back to the room, he would have to find out more about each of the victims.

_Someone is watching you._ Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He looked to his right: a row of parked cars sat harmlessly along the curb on the opposite side of the street. He could not see anyone inside any of them from where he stood on the sidewalk. He looked to his left: an open park with an empty child play structure, a couple of bikes locked to a stand, and some lonely-looking trees.

The youngest Winchester frowned, as he clenched his hands into fists. In his haste to get away from Dean, he had left his cellphone on the table with his laptop. He could feel a tickle on the back of his neck, and knew that indeed someone was watching him. He resumed his walk at a brisker pace.

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind him. They were almost perfectly in sync with his own, but they missed enough times that he could tell someone was there. A car drove past, and Sam saw the other's shadow was very near his own. With no weapons and no phone, Sam had only one option.

He turned around with his hands up in surrender. "Look, I don't want any trouble," he said.

"Trouble?" rasped the stranger. His face was hidden behind the hood of his black hoodie. "I have a warning for you."

Sam was thrown down on his back on the sidewalk. He didn't struggle against the invisible restraints holding him in place.

The stranger came to stand over him. He regarded Sam thoughtfully for a moment before bending down, and putting his hand over Sam's chest.

Sam gasped, unable to scream, as wave after wave of electric current wracked his body. He spasmed uncontrollably and his eyes rolled back in his head. He lost consciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: If you haven't been keeping up with this story lately (my fault; I've been slow to update), then you should know that I've pretty much changed all the chapters previous to this one. It's mostly minor details, but I did put the previous Chapter 7 into Chapter 5.**

**Chapter 7: The BAU & The Winchesters**

Reid stared blankly into the mug of coffee. His head was swirling with pain, but he kept thinking back to the evening's visit to Celeste's Astrology Emporium. He wanted to see her again.

Morgan looked in on Reid. The agent was sitting very still, and for a moment Morgan thought he could have been a statue. Reid sighed heavily. Clearly, his mind was not on the case; there were files lying open and spread out on the table, but Reid only had eyes for his coffee.

"Hey, Kid. Let's go back to the hotel,"

Reid looked up, jerked out of his reverie. He nodded dumbly, a funny smirk on his face. Morgan knew what he was thinking: sleeeeeeep.

Morgan grinned a lopsided grin, and gestured with his head for the skinny, exhausted young man to follow him.

Like a zombie, with his arms held out in front of him and his eyes mere slits, Reid obeyed.

~~*~~

_Dean dug his thumbs into Sam's eyes._

_Sam screamed._

Sam sat bolt upright, the scream in his dream carrying out into the night. It was still dark. He was still on the sidewalk. Sam's heart was racing, and his head was spinning. Cold sweat matted his hair. He was terrified.

Headlights rushed past, causing Sam to squint. He wondered how long he had been lying here. Sam shivered as a swift breeze from the passing vehicle washed over him. It was late, he could tell that by the lack of activity on the street. He needed a phone pronto.

The SUV continued on a few feet, before stopping and reversing. It pulled over to the curb next to Sam. A young man got out of the passenger side.

"Hey, are you alright?" the stranger asked, kneeling next to Sam. He was deftly checking to make sure Sam was not wounded.

Sam frowned at the other man. There was something familiar about him.

"Do you understand me?"

Sam nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was…jumped," Sam gasped.

"Did you see a face?"

Sam shook his head. "His face was covered by a hood. Couldn't see anything."

An African American man came around from the driver's side of the vehicle. "He OK, Reid?"

"He's in shock. We should take him to a hospital."

"No," Sam protested. "No, I'm fine. I just need to go back to the hotel. I'm fine." Sam tried to get up, but lost his balance and ended up falling into the African American man.

"Easy, sailor,"

Sam asked. "What time is it?"

"Please let us take you to the hospital?" the one called Reid pleaded.

"What time?"

"Ten-thirty," the African American answered.

Sam straightened and took a tentative step forward. It was clear that he could not trust his muscles just yet. "Can I borrow a phone?"

"Of course." Reid handed him his cellphone. This man looked familiar to him, but he could not figure out where he would have seen him before. He had been pouring over crime scene files all day; was that the connection? Reid regarded the other man closely. His guy said that it was impossible that this man was a suspect in their investigation.

Reid realized that his headache was gone.

Sam moved away from the two men as he dialled Dean's number. He was a little afraid of what Dean would say to him about his temporary disappearance. His brother answered on the first ring.

"_International Pizzaville. May I take your order?"_

"Dean, it's me,"

"_Where the hell are you Sammy? I've been driving around town for three hours!"_

Sam smiled. His brother's concern was comforting right now, and it sent the knot in his stomach away. "I'm in front of the park. There's a bowling alley across the street. I'm not very far from the hotel."

"_Don't move,"_ Dean ordered.

Sam hung up the phone and handed it back to Reid. "Thanks. My brother's on his way to pick me up,"

Reid nodded. "Are you sure you're OK?" The other man looked uninjured, but it was dark and therefore hard to tell.

Sam forced a smile. "I appreciate you guys stopping to check on me. Most people wouldn't do that."

"It's kind of our job."

"Ah. Cops?"

"You could say that," the African American replied.

"We'll wait here until your brother arrives," Reid said.

"Yeah, sure." The other man got back into the SUV.

Reid watched him disappear around the side of the vehicle. "Don't mind Morgan. It's been a long day. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what happened?"

"I did tell you. I was mugged by a guy in a hoodie."

"What did he take? Your phone, wallet? For someone who was just mugged, you aren't very worried about what was stolen from you."

"I wasn't carrying any of those things. He bashed me over the noggin when he realized I didn't have anything he could take besides pocket lint."

"He would have taken your jacket and shoes," Reid replied. "That's the typical scenario, anyway."

Sam shrugged. He knew that this police officer was suspicious of his story, but he was not about to tell a stranger that a demon had electrocuted him on a public street.

"You said you were staying in a hotel. Are you here on business?"

"You could say that," Sam returned.

Reid stuck his hands in his pockets, cocking his head to the side.

Sam figured out where he'd seen the other man before: in his dreams. He decided to file that away to tell Dean later.

"So, you're not from around here?"

Sam frowned. "No,"

"Where's home?"

"I…um…move around a lot."

Reid nodded. "My partner and I are here investigating some strange deaths, helping out the local PD. Are you aware of these strange deaths?"

Sam shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

Sam nodded.

Reid scowled. He knew that this man was lying, but he was not in the mood to keep interrogating him.

Headlights flashed into view. A black Impala pulled up to the curb.

"Nice car," Reid said.

Sam nodded sheepishly. If Reid had decided that he was suspicious, he could easily ask to see what was in the trunk. The Winchesters certainly wouldn't be able to explain why there was a small arsenal inside.

"Thanks for waiting with me," Sam said, offering his hand.

Reid shook it. "Be more careful when you're walking around at night. You never know who else is about."

Sam got into the car. Reid watched it drive off before getting in the SUV beside Morgan.

"All good?"

Reid nodded. "Bed please."

Morgan chuckled, as he pulled away from the curb.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Please be advised that if you haven't checked in on this story since August that a lot has been rewritten and a few details have changed. This version is new up to December 6, 2009.**

Chapter 8: The Winchesters

"Wanna tell me what the hell happened to you tonight?" Dean demanded before they were out of sight of the SUV.

"I was attacked. Some guy in a hoodie…zapped me."

"'Zapped' you? What's that s'posed to mean?"

"I don't know how, Dean, but this guy just slammed me onto the ground and then he laid his hand on my chest and the next thing I knew, I was being electrocuted. I blacked out, and then those cops found me. I used one of them's phone to call you."

"Great. So now the cops have my number."

"I deleted it before I gave it back, Dean. I'm not a complete idiot,"

"Present circumstances excluded," Dean muttered.

"Can we focus on the fact that I was electrocuted by some dude please? That is not normal demon behaviour."

The elder Winchester sighed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I think so,"

"Good. What did this guy look like?"

Sam shrugged. "I couldn't see his face. It was hidden under his hood."

Dean parked the Impala in the hotel's lot. "Maybe that psychic can tell us who he was then, huh?"

Sam got out of the car, and went to wait by the door to their room. Dean fished the key out of his pocket. Before he swiped it, Sam said, "Dean…there's something else. I—while I was out, I—I had another dream."

Dean waited for Sam to go on, but he did not. He swiped the room card, and went inside. The TV was still on the cartoon channel. Dean kicked off his shoes, and flopped down on his bed.

Sam hovered in the doorway uneasily.

"And?" Dean prompted.

"And I think one of those cops was in one of my dreams."

"Fantastic. Get some sleep. We've got a lot to do in the morning."

Sam went into the bathroom. He gingerly removed his shirt. A hand print was seared into his flesh. He touched it; it was still warm. "Great," he muttered. Sam put his shirt back on, rejoined Dean in the room, and crawled into bed.

~~*~~

Sam knocked on the front door to Celeste's Astrology Emporium, while Dean skulked around the back of the building. It was 10am—not the early start Dean had wanted because he was worried about Sam enough that he had been reluctant to wake him. Sam knew this, but wouldn't tell his brother that sleeping in had not helped.

The door opened before Sam finished raising his hand to knock on it.

"I lied to the FBI for you. Is that what you wanted?" A woman in her twenties stood in the doorway, and angry look on her face.

Sam was baffled. "Excuse me?"

She shook her head as she opened the door wider for him to enter. He didn't take his eyes off her as she pulled him inside and closed the door behind him.

"There is a team of FBI agents in town investigating the same deaths that you are. The difference is you and your brother are more experienced with what's happening here."

"And what is that exactly?"

"Don't be stupid," Celeste snapped. "A demon is possessing the victims' loved ones in order to murder them."

"And you know this because…?" Dean asked as he entered.

"Close the door behind you, please. And sit."

Sam was watching her warily; this was not lost on Dean.

Celeste looked from one Winchester to the other. "Right. _You're_ the skeptical ones. OK, yes, I knew all four victims. They were clients of mine. I didn't know they were going to die, but I should have…I should have." Her eyes were distant for a moment as regret passed across her face. "I didn't understand what I was seeing. Not like you," she said the last to Sam.

"I don't know what's going on, either," he admitted.

Celeste's face grew troubled. "Then how did you find me?"

"I had a dream about your logo. I only see things in my dreams, not when I'm awake. I've also dreamt about being blind, and—" he hesitated, glancing at Dean. "And about being blinded."

Celeste nodded slowly. "Was it Dean?"

Sam nodded, his eyes on the floor.

"In my dream it was a man I hadn't met before. Not until yesterday. You two have to be careful. Posing as FBI agents when real FBI agents are investigating will get you caught."

"Will it?" Dean mocked. "I'm not buying your act, sister. Psychics are a dime a dozen in this line of work."

"I understand that. Which is why I haven't tried to convince you that I'm not a fake, Dean. I know that it would be a waste of time to tell you your middle name, or your birthday, or that Sam still resents you for calling him Sammy in front of Bobby. However, since I'm not going to try to convince _you_, I'm sure Sam's noticed that I've been calling you by your first names since he walked in the door. I knew you were coming; I just expected you to get here sooner."

"What did you tell the FBI?" Sam asked, before Dean could make a retort.

"That I didn't know my clients were going to die, and that if I had I would have warned them. I knew something was coming, but I couldn't see for whom."

"You slipped up, Celeste," Dean said, a smirk on his lips. "You said four victims. There's only three. So far."

Celeste frowned at the elder Winchester. The colour drained from her face as she took a phone out of her jeans pocket. "Voicemail," she said absently, as she hung up. "Let's take a drive, shall we?" she said to Sam. He nodded. Neither of them looked at Dean as they went outside.

"What? You've got to be…Sam!" Dean followed them out to his car. Celeste was already in the back seat. Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "You trust her? Just like that?"

"Yes, I do,"

"What? Why?"

"I dunno. It's like a gut feeling. Like, I know I can trust her. I can't explain it, Dean. I think she was in my dream."

"You think? I think this is ridiculous!"

Sam flashed his brother a lopsided smile. "_This_ is ridiculous? Dean, everything we do is ridiculous. We hunt the creatures of the night. It doesn't get any more ridiculous than that. Please, let's do this."

"For her?"

"No, for whoever's life is in danger right now."

Dean scowled, but got behind the wheel.

"Turn left at the lights, right at the stop sign, left at the next stop sign and then stop at the last house on the left," Celeste instructed. Her hands were shaking. "We're too late to save Ryan, but the killer's still there."

"I'm sorry, Celeste," Sam said quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ryan is another client of yours, I presume."

"Yes,"

"Was his birthday on Friday the Thirteenth?"

"I don't know,"

"Why would a demon be going after _your_ clients that were born on Friday the Thirteenths?"

"I don't know,"

"Dean, please," Sam interjected. "We can figure that out later."

Dean turned the last corner, but took the first street that came up. "Crap," Dean muttered. "The FBI beat us to the punch."

"We have to—"

"No!" Dean cut Celeste off. "You said yourself: we have to avoid the real Feds. We'll go back to the motel and figure out how this demon is connected to you. Then we can figure out who it'll be after next. Then we can wait for it and send its sorry ass back to Hell."

Celeste pressed her hand against the window. "Ryan lived with his mother. She—it made her kill him," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're right. We can figure out who the demon's after next. Take me back to my shop first, so I can get my files. It'll make research a lot easier."

"Deal."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Updated Dec. 6/09**

Chapter 9: The BAU

Reid couldn't remember the last time he felt this exhausted. He peeled off his clothes and slipped into bed without brushing his teeth.

"Will the TV bother you?" Morgan asked. He was still wired and wanted to think the day over.

Reid mumbled into his pillow.

Morgan channel-surfed, before settling on _Mythbusters._ Half an hour passed before Reid started muttering in his sleep.

"Go to sleep, kid," Morgan said gently. "There are no leaches on you."

"Please…don't…"

"Kid, calm down. You're having a bad dream,"

"I don't..understand…" Reid's body jerked as if he'd been punched.

Morgan got off his bed and went over to wake Reid. "Hey—"

At Morgan's touch, Reid started screaming. Morgan grasped the younger agent by the shoulders, and shook him. "Reid, wake up!"

"No! Please! Morgan stop!"

"Reid, wake up! _Wake up!_"

Reid's eyes flew open and in one quick motion he shoved Morgan away and dove over the other side of the bed. He hit his head on the air conditioner, and stared at it until Morgan asked, "What the hell, kid?"

The wild look in Reid's eyes scared Morgan to the core. "Reid?"

Reid sped past his roommate and slammed the bathroom door behind him. After a moment, Morgan knocked softly on the door. "Reid, everything's alright. You were having a nightmare."

Reid heard the words but he could not face Morgan. Not after the dream he'd just had.

"Are you going to stay in the bathroom all night?"

He splashed water on his face, but avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. His heart thundered in his ears.

"Reid, listen to me. It was a dream, kid. Just a dream. Please open the door, so we can…talk about it."

He stared at his shaking hands, blinking back tears. "U-unless you c-can erase the image and feeling of y-you grinding your thumbs into my eye sockets, I don't think we h-have anything to talk about."

"Reid, you know I'd never—"

"It doesn't matter, Morgan. Please. Could you…could you switch rooms with Hotch?"

Morgan sighed. "Yeah, sure."

"Thank you,"

Reid waited until he heard the outer door click shut before venturing out of the bathroom. He felt foolish for being so afraid of his friend, but he was terrified and he needed Morgan to be far, far away—at least until morning.

He was gazing out the window, watching the traffic, when Hotch came in.

"Reid," he said, so as not to alarm the other agent.

"Hey, Hotch," Reid replied without turning.

Hotch turned off the TV, and settled into bed. He extinguished the bedside lamp. Neither agent said another word to each other.

Reid took a deep breath, then turned away from the lights outside. He sat on the edge of his bed, willing himself to calm down so he could try again to sleep. He remembered the crystal Celeste had given him, and without a second thought, he reached for his pants. He took the crystal out of the pocket and slipped it under his pillow. He curled up into a ball and closed his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

~~*~~

The sun spilled through the thin curtains, announcing the beginning of a new day. Reid's consciousness was already grasping for the daylight when Hotch shook him roughly.

"We gotta go,"

Reid frowned, but rolled out of bed obediently. "What happened?" he inquired, as he pulled a clean pair of mismatched socks out of his bag.

"Another victim's been found."

"Hotch, have you ever wondered if you were in the right line of work?" he said jokingly. He felt well-rested for the first time in ages.

"Considering your behaviour the last couple of days, I'd be careful who you say that to."

~~*~~

Reid lingered on the front porch after the rest of the BAU had gone inside Ryan Berg's home. His girlfriend had found him dead in front of the television early that morning. She had arrived to pick him up for school. Local PD had already confirmed that his day of birth landed on Friday the Thirteenth.

A black Impala turned left onto the street, then right at the next street. That was odd; if the car was headed towards Main Street, then there was no reason it would have turned left onto this street. He also knew it was the same car that had picked up the young man he and Morgan had found last night.

"Reid? Are you coming in?" Prentiss asked.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I just…nevermind."

"What? Did you see someone?"

"Just a car,"

"A black Impala?"

"No,"

"I saw an Impala yesterday at Ralph's place," Prentiss said. "Garcia was going to run the plates, but I haven't heard from her yet."

"That's odd. Garcia never takes long to find info."

"Yeah. I'm going to call her again." Prentiss was already on the phone.

Reid gathered his courage and entered the house. The living room was ashambles; clearly a fight had taken place. The glass in the coffee table was smashed, there were dishes on the floor, a can of Pepsi was overturned and spilled over onto the hardwood floor, and chips were strewn across the floor. Mixed in with the mess was blood. The unsub had not tried to cloak this one in the guise of a suicide.

The body was already gone to the morgue, but the blood was still fresh. Reid skirted it, feeling bile rising to his throat. He joined Rossi and Morgan in the kitchen.

"Hey kid," Morgan greeted him with his usual grin.

"I'm sorry about last night. I know I was overreacting."

"Don't worry about it. This case has all of us a little rattled."

"Yeah. Rattled. So, um, the unsub has clearly escalated. This is obviously not a suicide."

"Reid, maybe you should go back to the hotel. Take a break, y'know?" Rossi told him.

"No, I—I'm okay. Really. Um, I just saw an Impala drive around the corner. Prentiss says it's the same one she saw yesterday."

"1967 Chevy Impala licensed to Roy Neary in Sedgwick County, Kansas. However, Garcia can't _find_ any Roy Nearys in Kansas."

Reid chuckled. "Are you sure that name's right?"

"It's what she said,"

"Why?" Morgan asked Reid.

"Roy Neary is Richard Dreyfuss's character in _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_. I seriously doubt he owns that car. Or any car. I think he drove a truck."

"Great," Prentiss muttered.

"We can check the motels and hotels nearby for anyone registering that plate for a parking space. Some places still ask."

"Okay, Reid, get Garcia on that."

"Sure." He tried not to sulk as he went outside. He knew when he was being dismissed. He used the patio doors.

"_Speak babycakes,"_

"Hey Garcia. Can you run that plate Prentiss gave you through anyone registered at the hotels and motels in the city, please? Our unsub might not be a local."

"_As you wish. Just gimme a minute here,"_ Garcia said. _"Is everything alright, Reid?"_

"What do you—oh. Morgan told you about my freak out last night?"

"_It may have come up. He's worried about you, you know. He says you're not handling this case very well."_

"Well, if Morgan's worried about me then I must be in real bad shape, right?"

"_I didn't mean to imply that, Sweetie."_

"Yeah. I know. Any hits yet?"

"_You are in luck, sir. License plate KAZ 2Y5 is registered at the Oakbank Motel on Bridge Street."_

"Thanks Garcia. And don't worry about me. I'm fine." Reid hung up the phone before she could say anything else.

He sighed, pocketing his phone. He ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed again. He wondered where Celeste was and what she might be doing at—he looked at his watch—9:43am. As he looked up from his watch, he noticed a trail of red in the grass. He followed it through the backyard and into the tall field grass behind the house. The trail ended at the body of a woman in her fifties: Berg's mother.

"Morgan!"

Morgan went out onto the patio. "Reid, where are you?"

He waved half-heartedly, and Morgan joined him in the field.

"Oh no,"

A rustle of movement distracted them from the mangled corpse at their feet. Morgan had his gun out already, as he dashed through the grass. Reid hesitated, not sure if he should call the others or follow Morgan. He pulled out his phone to call Hotch as he went after Morgan. He saw the other agent catch up to and tackle a young man in his twenties. They exchanged words that he could not hear, before Morgan turned the man over and handcuffed him.

"Hotch and Rossi are on their way," Reid announced.

"Who are you people?" the man asked, his eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"Who are you?" Reid asked. "And what were you doing, hiding in the field like that? Did you know Ryan Berg?"

"Did I--? Yeah, Ryan and I go to school together. I'm a-a TA at the university. I must have been looking for him."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Yesterday. We went out for drinks."

"How long have you been out here?"

"From the look of him, I'd say all night," Morgan replied.

It was true; the man's face was streaked with dirt and his clothes had grass stuck to them.

"No, there's no way I've been out here that long. I'd remember being out here."

"Depends how many drinks you had, doesn't it?" Morgan sneered.

"What's your name?" Reid asked.

"Paige Baker. My dad's the—"

"The Sheriff," Reid finished.

"Yeah,"

Morgan pulled Paige to his feet.

"Maybe you should ease up a bit there, Morgan."

"As far as I'm concerned, this punk is our unsub,"

"Punk? What? Didn't you hear me? I'm a TA. And the sheriff's son. I'm not some…punk!" Paige protested. "Call my dad. Please," he addressed the last to Reid, since he was the more sympathetic character.

Before Reid could reply, Hotch and Rossi arrived, both with their guns drawn.

"This is Paige Baker, and there's another body over there in the grass," Reid summarized, pointing in the direction of Mrs. Berg.

"What were you doing out here?" Hotch asked.

"Skulking," Morgan said.

"No, I wasn't! I…I don't remember how I got out here."

"Well, that's not a good answer, son," Rossi replied.

"Talk to my sister. She'll tell you what happened."

"How do you figure?" Morgan asked.

"'Cause she's a psychic. Her name's Celeste. She has a shop—"

"Yeah, we were there yesterday. Relying on a psychic—nevermind your psychic _sister_—isn't a good defense," Morgan stated.

"But she's the real deal, honest!"

"Did she know Ryan?" Reid asked.

Paige nodded. "Since they were kids. They dated for awhile in high school."

Reid looked at Hotch.

"Uncuff him, Morgan," Hotch said.

"What?" he protested.

"Just uncuff him,"

Morgan did as he was told, albeit reluctantly.

Rossi called Sheriff Baker to inform him that there was another body on the premises and to ream him out for not doing a better search of the crime scene.

"What the heck is going on, Hotch?" Reid wondered.

Hotch just gave him his trademark concerned look, and then he walked away. When Reid was alone in the field, he pulled out his cellphone and Celeste's card from his wallet.

"Hey, Celeste. I-I think you're in trouble. Can I meet you somewhere? Oakbank Motel, room 42. Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Updated on Dec. 6/09**

**Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 10: The Winchesters

Celeste closed her cellphone, while chewing her bottom lip. She was second-guessing what she'd just told Reid.

"Who was that?" Dean asked, as he grabbed the phone out of her hand.

"He needs our help," she replied.

"Who?" he asked again.

"One of the FBI agents. His name is Spencer Reid."

Dean was livid. "You just told us to avoid the FBI and now you're inviting them to our room? You're bonkers!"

"Bonkers?" Sam repeated, surprised by his brother's word choice.

Neither Dean nor Celeste was amused.

"You have to trust me on this. Reid will lead you to the demon; he just won't know it. He's in as much danger as anyone now."

"How do you know that?" Dean demanded. "I'm still not convinced you didn't just Google us."

"Oh, please, Dean," Sam interjected. "How could she possibly Google us? We never use our real names!"

"Oh, Sammy, don't give me an 'I'm psychic too and I know she's telling the truth' speech! Your psychicness has only gotten us into trouble so far."

"My _psychicness_ has saved a lot of people's lives, Dean!"

"Fine, but as far as I've seen, _hers_ sure hasn't! Now is not the time to be defending her! You don't even know her!"

"I—this is different!"

"It's always _different_, isn't it, Sammy?"

The brothers were so intent on their argument that neither of them noticed the soft knock on the door. Celeste heard it, and went to answer it, knowing that it was Reid.

"Hey," he said when she let him in.

"Don't mind them. They've been under a lot of stress lately, and it's finally come to a head. They'll settle down in a few minutes."

"Who are they?"

"Private detectives."

"Awfully young to be private detectives…"

"Oh really, boy genius?"

Reid blushed. He turned his attention to the Winchesters.

"Oh please!" Dean shouted. "That was one time!"

"No, it's _every _time!" Sam shouted back.

Reid asked Celeste, "What are they arguing about?"

"Hitting on the waitresses at all the truck stops,"

"Really? That's unprofessional,"

Sam said, "And I do all the research! All of it! And what do you do? You drive. And listen to bad music!"

"Because it's your laptop! And it's my car! And it is _not_ bad music! You take that back!" Dean retorted.

"Golden Earring isn't bad music? Please!"

"Maybe we should interrupt them?" Reid suggested.

Celeste laughed, which attracted Sam's attention.

Dean threw in one last shot: "It's better than those wusses Coldplay!"

"Actually," Reid said, "Coldplay are very good musicians. Chris Martin alone plays four instruments: piano, guitar, mandolin, and clarinet. His mother was a music teacher."

"Well, thanks Wikipedia," Dean said.

"I don't use Wikipedia,"

"How nice for you,"

Sam smacked his brother in the arm for being rude. This was, afterall, the same man who had found him lying on the sidewalk the night before.

"Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Reid, these are Detectives John Fogerty and Doug Clifford," Celeste introduced the Winchesters as their chosen aliases. She caught the flicker of recognition between Sam and Reid.

Reid shook hands with Sam first, then reluctantly with Dean. He was onto the game, though. "Like the guys in Creedence Clearwater Revival? You wouldn't happen to know Roy Neary, would you?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances that did not escape Reid's keen eye. "Who are you really? Right now you're looking pretty good as our unsubs,"

"I'm more of a burger man myself," Dean smirked.

The younger Winchester glowered at the elder. He then turned to Celeste. She nodded subtly. "My name's Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We are detectives, just not accredited ones."

"Hence the aliases,"

"Exactly,"

"I knew there was more to your story. What sorts of cases do you take on?"

"The supernatural kind," Dean stated, watching Reid's facial expression.

"You seriously think something supernatural is killing these people and taking their eyes?" Reid said skeptically.

"Yes," Sam said frankly. "Last night, when you found me, I'd been attacked by a man in a hoodie. Without using any physical force, he threw me flat on the ground. Then he bent over me, said he had a message for me, and electrocuted me."

"Come on—" Reid started to protest.

Sam lifted up his shirt to show them his new scar.

"Sammy—" Dean gasped.

The perfectly formed hand print was still raw and angry on Sam's chest. "This didn't happen by accident. And I can assure you, I didn't do it myself."

"No, that would be impossible. The intense heat required would have probably melted the skin off your hand. And since I shook your hand, I know that the skin is intact."

Sam smoothed his shirt down. "Both Celeste and I have had dreams about…being attacked."

Reid's breath hitched in his throat. "Wh-what do you mean?" He was looking from Celeste to Sam and back again.

They both had sympathetic looks on their faces.

"In my dream, a man comes to see me at the shop. I let him in because I know I can trust him. And then he takes my eyes, before he kills me," Celeste said slowly.

"In my dream, it was Dean," Sam confessed, nodding toward his brother.

"I—the dream wasn't about me…until last night. Last night I dreamt that Morgan came after me while I was asleep."

"If this is supposed to make me feel left out, it's working," Dean said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What did you dream about before that?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother.

"Things—zombies, I guess—coming out of the cemetery, and asking me why I didn't help them. But I've had dreams like that before. Gideon told me it was part of the job," Reid explained.

"Dreaming about zombies? I thought our job was bad, eh Sammy?" Dean punched Sam in the arm playfully.

"Dean, c'mon. You're not helping,"

Dean scowled at Sam, then asked Reid: "What is it you do exactly, Special Agent Doctor Reid?" Dean asked.

"I'm with the BAU—the Behavioural Analysis Unit. We're profilers. The local PD called us in to help them with this case."

"Are you very religious, Special Agent Doctor Reid?"

Reid scowled at Dean. He was definitely annoyed by both his tone and being called 'Special Agent Doctor' every time Dean addressed him. "Reid's good enough. And no, I'm not particularly religious."

"And how do you feel about the Occult? Supernatural things? Have you ever seen a ghost?"

Reid shook his head.

"So, I suppose if we tell you that a demon is possessing these poor folks, you'll roll your eyes and say that's impossible,"

"That is impossible," Reid stated flatly.

Dean looked at Sam expectantly.

Sam sighed. "What if it isn't?"

Reid knit his eyebrows together. "I'd need a lot more proof than your word."

"Would you?" Celeste asked.

Reid's eyes met hers, and the skeptism melted away. What was it about this woman that put him so at ease? Why was he so willing to trust her every word? He hated being so confuddled. Then he remembered that the BAU had arrested Celeste's brother mere moments before he had called her.

Celeste's eyes went as wide as pie plates. "Paige?"

Reid nodded slowly, his eyes locked on hers. He reached a hand out to touch her cheek, then stopped himself.

"Why do I feel this way around you?" he whispered.

"Who's Paige?" Dean broke in.

"My brother," Celeste answered. "He was seeing Steph Morrow at the time of her death. He knew Ryan. He lives down the street from the Romanos." Celeste was nodding, as she sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "The demon knew what it was doing. Moving from person to person, and keeping Paige in the middle."

"Hang on a sec, Celeste," Dean said. "How can we be sure it hasn't been inside your brother the whole time? It wouldn't have to jump from person to person if Paige is that convenient. The question is, why did it come here in the first place? What's this demon's game?" Dean went to the laptop on the table. "Look, Sammy, I'm doing research," he said snidely.

Sam mock applauded.

Reid smirked at the brothers' behaviour. "Sometimes I'm glad I was an only child," he said to no one in particular.

Sam heard him, and half-smiled back. He went to read over Dean's shoulder. Reid sat next to Celeste on the bed.

"How come you didn't mention that you were the sheriff's daughter?"

"Does it matter?"

Reid shrugged. "No, I guess not,"

"What did Paige say when you found him in the field?"

"Just that he didn't know how he'd gotten there."

Celeste nodded. "Did he seem drunk to you?"

"Nope,"

"If he was possessed, it would explain the gaps in his memory,"

"You believe that? In demon possession? It seems…farfetched to me,"

"Spence, there are some things that can't be explained yet by science. Yes, I believe in demon possession. I believe in angels. I believe in ghosts, and monsters under the bed. I believe in these things because I've dreamt about them. And because Sam and Dean and many others like them—average people, like you or I—have dedicated their lives to hunting down the monsters in the dark, and sending them back where they belong."

Reid considered her words. He knew she was being deadly serious, and he realized that he believed her. It was crazy; he knew that someone didn't have to be possessed by a demon to inflict unspeakable horror on another. He had seen enough horror in his few years with the BAU to know that was an infallible fact.

"Here we go," Dean announced. "In 1931, Flloyd Rogers murdered his wife, Melinda, and gouged out her eyes and…ate them. Gross. Eleven more victims were found with their eyes removed before the police found Rogers in the process of killing someone else. They were forced to shoot him in order to save the intended victim, Justin Baker, who, luckily, only lost one eye."

Celeste joined the Winchesters at the laptop. "My grandfather," she breathed. "I never knew him, except from what my dad told me: he was a mean drunk, and worse when he was sober."

"That explains why your clients are so special," Dean said.

Reid joined them, as well.

"The demon could've jumped from Rogers to Baker after the police shot him," Sam concluded.

"There were—you guessed it—thirteen more murders in '44 by some dude named Ethan Hollander, in '57 by a Martin Stevens, again in '70 by Lisa Rivers, and so on. Every thirteen years this bastard comes back to kill thirteen more people who were born on Friday the Thirteenth. This demon's good, though. Each of his hosts was gunned down by police. He wised up and probably used your grandpa as shelter in between his sprees."

"It's impossible that no one saw that link before," Reid said. "Anyone with access to the police files could have seen a pattern so obvious."

"Yes, but only a hunter would know _why_ there was a pattern in the first place. As far as local PD knows, each suspect died, right? People have an uncanny ability to turn a blind eye to the things they can't explain. That's why there's hunters in the first place. We can't afford blind eyes. No puns intended."

"How long can a demon stay in one body?"

"As long as it wants, if it knows how," Dean shrugged.

Reid looked at his watch. "I'd better get back. They'll be looking for me,"

"What will you tell your team when they ask you where you've been for the last hour?" Celeste asked.

"What should I tell them? The truth won't go over well, since Prentiss thinks Sam and Dean are in on the murders. Then again, if your brother really is that well connected to the victims, the team might be happy to keep him in custody for awhile, and forget about the black Impala that's been cruising around the crime scenes."

"We'll try harder to lie low," Sam replied.

"Just tell them that you came to see me," Celeste suggested.

"They'll know I'm lying,"

"Then you'll have to try extra hard to be convincing," Dean stated, glancing at Reid over his shoulder.

"It's not that easy. We're profilers. We _know _when someone's lying—especially if we're lying to each other. It's like living in the smallest town you can think of. Everyone knows everyone else's secrets. It's just how it is," Reid tried to explain. "And this case has us all on edge, so we're even more attuned to each others' subtleties."

"Well, you wouldn't be lying, per se, just leaving us out of it," Sam reasoned.

Reid nodded. "How do I tell if Paige is possessed?"

Sam moved across the room to a knapsack tucked away in the closet. He fished around in it until he found a bottle of Holy Water. He offered it to the FBI agent. "Splash this on him. If he's possessed, you'll know right away."

"How?"

"He'll react," Dean said. Reid didn't like the look on his face.

Celeste squeezed Reid's free hand. "Okay," he sighed. "And then what?"

"Run," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "You do not want to be near an angry demon."

Reid held up the bottle to the light, as if expecting there to be more floating in the liquid. "This is crazy,"

"Yes," Sam agreed. "It is."

"Be careful, Spence."

He gave her an unconvincing smile, and then he left.

She watched him through the peephole as he got into the SUV, and pulled out of the motel parking lot. She sensed Sam behind her. "Will you follow him?"

"Sure."

"We all will," Dean said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Updated Jan. 19/09**

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, story-alerted, and/or favourited this fic. It's extremely awesome of you. Some of you may hate me after this chapter!**

Chapter 11: The BAU

Paige Baker hadn't stopped shaking since the FBI had hauled him into the police station. He was sitting ramrod straight in an interrogation room, with his hands clasped in his lap. He was waiting for the agent that had arrested him to come back with a glass of water. His dad had already given the FBI a piece of his mind, but he was too good of a cop not to see that his son had been in a bad place at the wrong time.

Paige exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. He hadn't done anything wrong; he had driven Ryan home the night before after Ryan had had a couple of drinks. And then Paige had…lost track of time. But he knew what he had meant to do: drive home, check his Facebook, update his Twitter page, and then watch _TMZ_ before he went to bed. Why he had woken up in the field behind Ryan's house was a mystery. Paige had only indulged in a glass of Pepsi at the bar with Ryan, so it was impossible that he had passed out. Of course, no one would believe him. Except Celeste. She'd know he was telling the truth. She always knew.

Morgan returned with Rossi and a glass of water. Paige took it with shaking hands, and sipped it gingerly, as if he expected it to contain acid. Morgan sat in the chair opposite Paige.

"Tell us again what you did last night," Rossi stated, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Paige's mouth went dry again, and he took another sip of water. "Like I keep saying, I took Ryan home, and then I went home."

"We know you're lying. If you were telling us the truth, your hands would stop shaking," Morgan said.

"Or maybe my hands would stop shaking if I knew you believed me."

"Let's talk about something else," Morgan suggested.

"Okay," Paige agreed warily.

"Tell us about your sister, Celeste. How long has she been selling herself as a psychic?"

Paige furrowed his brow. "You mean literally? She's had the shop for four years, I think. But she's been psychic for her whole life. If she hadn't been, I wouldn't be here anymore."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well…" Paige fumbled for words. He knew Celeste hated it when he told this story to anyone, nevermind federal agents. "When I was 14, my sister's gift saved my life. She had a vision: I fell into the lake at our cottage, and hit my head on the dock. I drowned. But because she saw it, our dad was able to save me."

Morgan looked over his shoulder at Rossi, who shrugged. "Your father will corroborate this?" Morgan asked Paige.

He nodded emphatically. "He has to, doesn't he? He was there. He pulled me out of the water and gave me CPR."

"Okay, okay, easy, kid. You see, we met your sister yesterday, and she didn't strike me as being—how can I put it lightly—she wasn't all there, y'know? A few French fries short of a Happy Meal."

Rossi frowned at Morgan, but kept quiet while he tried to understand the other man's tactic.

"Don't say that about her! You don't know anything about her!" Paige shouted angrily.

Morgan nodded, watching Paige with a calculated look on his face. "I take it Celeste is younger than you? You're her protective big brother, right?"

Paige crossed his arms over his chest. "Someone had to keep an eye on her when we were growing up. Everyone thought she was a freak. And I know she's not. She's not a freak."

"Fair enough. Do you know how many people have died around her lately, though? That makes her…gift…look pretty pathetic, doesn't it? Maybe it's broken,"

"I have no idea how it works."

"It is a strange coincidence that all the victims have been clients of hers," Rossi stated.

"She didn't kill them, if that's where you're going with this," Paige said immediately. "She would never hurt anyone."

"Or so you think," Morgan replied.

"No, I _know_. Celeste couldn't hurt anyone."

"How far would you go to keep her safe?" Rossi asked.

Paige's eyes widened as he realized that he had inadvertently pointed the finger back at himself. "Where's my dad? I want to talk to the sheriff."

Morgan and Rossi exchanged another loaded glance. Paige drank more water.

~~*~~

Reid parked the SUV in the lot at the police department. He sighed as he stared at the bottle of Holy Water, and asked himself again if he really believed what the Winchesters had told him. Demon possession was ridiculous, as far as he was concerned. But a little splash of water to make sure wouldn't hurt anyone, right? He sighed again, then got out of the vehicle as he pocketed the bottle.

JJ cut him off as soon as she caught sight of him. "Where were you?"

"I…needed a coffee."

"Then where is it?"

"I drank it at the shop."

JJ frowned at him, not convinced. "Where were you really?"

Reid sighed. He knew this wouldn't be easy. "I went to see Celeste."

"The psychic?"

He nodded.

"You know that's her brother in the interrogation room?"

He nodded again.

"Did you tell her that?"

"I didn't have to,"

JJ rolled her eyes. "Morgan thinks you're losing it, Spence, you know that?" There was real concern in her eyes. "I don't want to agree with him, but…the way you've been acting lately sure has me wondering."

"I'm fine, I promise," Reid said with as much reassurance in his voice as he could muster.

JJ threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her back. After a few moments, she pulled away with a small smile of encouragement on her face. "If you need to talk, I'm here for you, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks," he said awkwardly, feeling his cheeks flush.

JJ moved out of his path so he could continue on his previous trajectory. Reid ran his fingers through his hair as he walked to the interrogation room. Hotch and Sheriff Baker were watching Morgan, Rossi, and Paige through the one-way glass. Reid slipped past them with a nod at Hotch and into the room. He already had the bottle of Holy Water uncorked in his hand when he entered. He quickly splashed Paige in the face with it.

"Hey!" Paige yelled, swiping his arm across his cheek. "What the hell, dude?"

Reid frowned. He was sure this was not the reaction that one possessed by a demon would have, and so was relieved that the Winchesters' theory had been disproved. He looked at Morgan with somewhat of a sheepish grin on his face.

The grin melted when he saw Morgan's eyes. They were completely black.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Morgan said in a raspy voice.

In an instant, he grabbed Reid by the throat and slammed him onto the table. Reid dropped the bottle on the floor on impact. With a shout, Paige backed up against the wall, wide-eyed. Rossi moved forward to pull Morgan away from Reid, but Morgan moved impossibly fast: before Rossi knew what had happened, Morgan had drawn his gun and fired a bullet into Rossi's brain. Outside, Hotch and Baker were shouting and trying to get the door open.

Reid desperately tried to pry Morgan's fingers from around his neck, but even one-handed the other agent was too strong. Morgan smirked down at him; a very un-Morgan-like expression. Reid was afraid. He struggled harder, trying to get his feet under into position for a good, strong kick to Morgan's gut, but he could not. Tears were streaming from his eyes as he tried desperately to free himself. Morgan just held him down, that expression of pure pleasure that was totally unlike Morgan filling Reid's sight—a window that was slowly closing as Reid lost consciousness.

Morgan pressed the gun against Reid's forehead. The younger agent cringed, but he was trapped. "Poor little Spencey has gotten himself in over his head again."

Spots were forming in front of Reid's eyes. He wouldn't be conscious for much longer. His mind strayed to the dream he had had the night before: Morgan removing his eyes. He struggled harder to stay awake.

Morgan holstered the gun, and eased his grip on Reid's throat. Reid sucked in air, and coughed it back out again. Morgan was still holding him down on the table, and he knew why. Morgan placed his hands on either side of Reid's face.

Reid writhed and hit and kicked but Morgan was too strong, and he was too weak from those precious moments without oxygen.

And then something wet splashed across his face, and Morgan was gone. Reid slid himself over the edge of the table, and landed next to Paige, who was holding a now-empty bottle of Holy Water.

Morgan was screaming, and hiding his face. He dived through the one-way mirror, rolled to his feet, and sprinted out of the building before anyone could stop him. Hotch chased him out into the street, but lost him after several minutes of pursuit on foot. When he returned to police headquarters, Prentiss was comforting JJ in the main room. He passed them without acknowledging them, and went into the interrogation room.

Paige was still holding the empty bottle, but was staring at Rossi's body. Baker was trying to coax his son into speaking to him. Reid was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at a place on the wall. Hotch went to him first.

"Reid, are you alright?" he asked as gently as he could.

"The closest thing I have to a best friend just tried to kill me," Reid said, still staring at the wall. His voice was a harsh rasp in his throat. "So, no, I'm not alright."

Hotch put his hand on Reid's shoulder. He didn't know what to say.

**A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks for your patience. If this is your first time back to this fic in awhile, then I have some bad news for you: I edited and rewrote all of the previous chapters, so you may want to start from the beginning. Specifically Chapter 7 is completely different, so at least read that one. I decided I wanted my two universes to cross paths sooner.**

**Thanks for reading! You are all awesome.**

**Chapter 12: The Winchesters**

Sam inhaled sharply as Reid jumped back a step, releasing the other man's hand. They were still in the hotel room; Celeste had just introduced them under their aliases as members of Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Reid ran shaking fingers through his unruly brown hair. "What the heck just happened?"

Celeste eased him down onto the bed.

"Sam?" Dean said gently.

"The demon jumped ship— bodies. It isn't in Celeste's brother anymore; it's in one of the FBI agents."

"Morgan," Reid supplied. "It's in Morgan. How…?" Reid shook his head. He was overwhelmed by what he had seen. Morgan possessed by a demon? And murdering Rossi in cold blood? He could not believe his friend could do such a thing. He was vaguely aware of Celeste smoothing his hair away from his face while he processed the vision he and Sam had shared during their handshake. "None of it was real?"

"Some of it was," Sam said. He showed Reid the hand print on his chest. "The rest of it could be."

Reid stared at the grey carpet beneath his loafers. He walked himself through the vision, connecting the dots in his head. "So, this demon is inside Morgan. How? How did it get there?"

Dean started to answer, but Celeste mimed pulling a zipper across her lips. Dean scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, but he held his tongue.

"In the field!" Reid realized. "When Morgan was alone with Paige behind Ryan Berg's place, the demon could have switched over, right?" he addressed the question to Sam, who nodded. "Okay, so…we can stop it from killing Rossi. What do we do? How do we…exorcise him? I can't believe I just said that."

"'We' don't exorcise him. Sam and I—the experts—will do it. You'll both do kindly to stay out of our way," Dean warned.

"Dean, come on," Sam chided. "Like it or not, the three of us are connected to this. We have to see it through together, whatever that entails."

Reid jumped up off the bed. "We have to go! Now! Before everything that we saw happens."

"There's something wrong about what we saw, though," Sam stated. "This _thing _electrocuted me with its touch. It wouldn't shoot your friend. It would just zap him,"

"What are you saying? There's something _else_ here?" Reid asked incredulously. A demon possessing Morgan wasn't enough weirdness for him to try and deal with?

Celeste rose next to him. "Sam's right. I've been listening for psychic disturbances around town, and if I couldn't even read one in my own brother, there has to be something bigger here protecting that demon."

"Let's deal with one problem at a time," Dean stepped in. "We know the demon is in this FBI guy and that he's at the police station. Let's go and take care of it. We can find your disturbances in the Force afterwards."

Reid and Sam cast disapproving looks at Dean for his sarcasm, but Celeste was half-smirking. She knew the elder Winchester was finally coming around to the possibility that she, Reid, and Sam had met here and now for a reason.

Sam was handing a bottle of Holy Water to Reid when Celeste's head snapped around to the front door mere moments before the window shattered inward. Tiny pieces of glass stung her cheek as they danced across her skin.

"Down!" Dean shouted, diving between the beds, where his shotgun was stored.

Reid grabbed Celeste and pulled her down to the floor with him. "Are you alright?" he whispered breathlessly in her ear.

Dean aimed the shotgun over the bed, pointing it at the door. He waited.

"We should have salted the door. Damn!" Sam said next to Reid on the floor. He, too, held a weapon aimed at the door.

"Wait! You can't shoot Morgan!" Reid hissed through his teeth. "Aside from the fact that he's my friend, he's also an FBI agent. If you hurt him, you'll be thrown in jail!"

"He's right, Dean," Sam agreed.

"What do you suggest then?"

Before anyone could answer, the door was ripped from its hinges, and thrown into the parking lot. Morgan stepped into the empty frame. His eyes were black, and reminded Reid of _Jaws_ and Quint's line, "You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes, black eyes like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, he doesn't seem to be living." Reid shuddered, and tightened his grip on Celeste's hand, which he had forgotten he was holding. He had never seen a shark before.

Celeste squeezed his hand in return.

Sam had seen plenty of sharks over the years as a hunter. He grabbed the bottle of Holy Water from Reid, uncorked it, and threw it at Morgan. It smashed on the wall to Morgan's right, splashing mere drops onto the possessed man's face.

Morgan hissed, wiping the liquid from his burning flesh. He came forward.

Dean left the shotgun on the bed and hurled himself bodily into Morgan. "Run Sammy!"

Reid pulled Celeste to her feet and charged for the back door, which led into the motel's hall. Wood broke, and Celeste turned to see that Morgan had thrown Dean clean through the table. She made eye contact with those black eyes and her head swam. Reid caught her and pulled her outside with him.

Inside the room, Sam was shouting in Latin.

"Celeste come on snap out of it we have to get out of here are you alright I don't know what to do this is a lot out of my area of expertise!"

"I've never seen anything so terrible before." She met his gaze steadily. The episode had passed.

Reid was nodding.

Sam had stopped shouting.

Reid drew his gun. "Go," he told her.

"It's okay now," she said, but he made sure he went back into the room first.

Dean was clearly out cold on top of the smashed table. Sam was leaning against the wall, not far from where they had left him.

"Where's Morgan?"

"He took off,"

"Not far," Celeste stated.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked, turning around.

Celeste was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I apologize for the cop-out dream chapter, but I wasn't sure how else to get out of the corner I felt backed into lol. Here's the new instalment!**

**Thanks for the awesome reviews! You guys are amazing!**

Chapter 13: The BAU

Paige Baker hadn't stopped shaking since the FBI had hauled him into the police station. He was sitting ramrod straight in an interrogation room, with his hands clasped in his lap. He was waiting for the agent that had arrested him to come back with a glass of water. His dad had already given the FBI a piece of his mind, but he was too good of a cop not to see that his son had been in a bad place at the wrong time.

Hotch watched Paige through the one-way glass. The kid was nervous; he kept tapping his foot, realizing he was tapping his foot, and then he would start tapping his fingers instead. When he realized he was tapping his fingers, he'd go back to tapping his foot. Paige had not yet asked for his phone call. Hotch figured that was because his father, Sheriff Baker, was standing outside the holding cell, also watching through the glass.

"Paige isn't capable of any of the things done to our victims," the sheriff said.

Hotch noted doubt in the man's voice. "Finding out that our children can grow up to be monsters is difficult."

Baker shook his head. "It's bad enough that Celeste is…different. Not Paige. Not my boy."

Hotch looked up at the older man. "How long have you known Celeste was different?"

Baker frowned. He did not like talking about Celeste's "ability". He sighed. "Her whole life there was always something a little off about her. My wife said she'd grow out of it, but it just kept getting worse. First it was the weather. She always knew when it would rain, like she had a bad knee. Then it was visitors, or the exact time the mailman or pizza guy would come.

"And then one day, I got a phone call from the principal at Celeste's school asking me to come pick her up and take her home early. According to her teacher, she had suddenly stood up in class and screamed for someone to call 911 because Jackie Caffrey's mom was having a heart attack. No one believed her. Not even me."

"And?"

"Jackie found her mom dead in the kitchen when she got home from school."

Hotch let a contemplative silence fall between them before continuing. "How did Celeste handle it?"

"She wouldn't talk about it. She was just a kid. I don't think she understood what was happening. She never had an episode like that again. Not until we were at the cottage, and she told me her brother was drowning."

"You believed her then?"

Baker nodded. "I learned my lesson after the first time. I've never doubted her since. She knew when…" His voice trailed off.

Hotch nodded. He knew what the rest of the sentence would be: Celeste had known when her mother would die. "Excuse me."

Baker nodded, his eyes fixed on his son on the other side of the glass.

Hotch joined JJ and Prentiss in the main office, where Reid had been working. Files were still strewn about on the table, but they were slightly more organized than the way the young agent had left them the night before. Hotch guessed JJ had moved them.

"Any word from Reid or Morgan?" Hotch asked.

JJ shook her head. She was worried; it was written all over her face. Prentiss was worried, too, but she hid it better.

"Do you think—I mean, do you…Reid's dream. You don't think maybe…?"

"Reid had a nightmare, JJ. We all know he has them often, and usually keeps them to himself. This one is no different from any other. I'm sure he and Morgan went somewhere for lunch to talk about last night."

"Then why doesn't he answer his phone?" Prentiss asked.

"Why don't either of them answer their phones?" JJ amended.

"Dead battery," Hotch said flatly. "JJ, I need you to find a complete list of Celeste Baker's clients. Find out which ones were born on Friday the Thirteenth, and see if there's a connection beyond that. We need to get ahead of this killer."

"But the Baker boy—"

"I'm not convinced he's our unsub."

"How do you know?" Prentiss wondered aloud. "He was at the crime scene. He hasn't got an alibi. Did his psychic sister tell you he was innocent?"

Hotch ignored the jibe. "Both Bakers are hiding something. I think they're protecting Celeste. We have to make sure no one else gets hurt, and running a background check on the clients is the easiest way to start. Maybe we can predict who'll be next."

JJ asked, "Reid and Morgan?"

"Get Garcia to trace Reid's and Morgan's phones if they haven't checked in in an hour."

He walked out of the office.

Prentiss arched her eyebrow at the concern on JJ's face. "He's alright, you know."

"_They_, you mean,"

"We both know which one you're most worried about."

"We both know that Spence isn't very good at being caught in the middle of the action."

"He didn't become a field agent by accident, JJ. Relax. Have a little faith in him for once."

JJ nodded. "Still…I wish he'd call."

Meanwhile, Baker had finally decided to go in to talk to Paige. He was determined to get the truth out of his son, no matter what he had to do to get it.

"Tell me what happened," Baker said gruffly, sitting down across from Paige.

"I told you, Dad! I just dropped Ryan off, that's all! Where's Celeste? She'll tell you I'm not lying. I don't know what else to say."

"You can start with the truth." He cut his son's protest off with a wave of his hand. "If you went home last night, what were you doing passed out in the yard, Paige? It doesn't make sense any way I thjink about it. Did you go back? Why? Did you forget something? Did you have Ryan's keys so he wouldn't drive himself home drunk, and then you forgot to give them back? I'm trying to understand how you got there."

Paige didn't have an answer. The truth was, he couldn't remember what happened after Ryan had gotten out of his car. He had fumbled with his keys, dropped them, and then…had he followed Ryan in? Paige frowned in concentration. It felt as if the memories were right at the surface, but he couldn't open them.

"I don't remember," he said at last. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that he _had_ followed Ryan into the house. He must have helped him in; Ryan had been very drunk. Yes, he remembered that, now. Ryan had stumbled up the driveway, and dropped his keys. Paige had been the one to pick them up, and unlock the door. The house had been dark; Ryan's mom had already gone to bed. Ryan had turned on the lamp, and then…and then…

Paige met his father's gaze with large, frightened eyes.

~~*~~

An hour later, JJ was on the phone with Garcia, telling her that Reid and Morgan were still missing. It was just after two in the afternoon. Garcia was in the middle of trying to calm JJ's nerves when Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss, and Sheriff Baker raced past her.

"Hang on, Garcia," JJ said into the phone, as she chased after the four officers. "What's going?"

"We just got a call from a local motel. A disturbance of some kind," Rossi said quickly.

"And get this: the owner's birthday falls on Friday the Thirteenth," Prentiss added.

"Reid? Morgan? Any word from them?"

Rossi shook his head.

"JJ, stay here. We'll call when we get to the motel," Hotch stated.

"Something's up Garcia," she said into the phone. "I can't explain it, but I'm terrified."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: You all continue to be awesome. I appreciate it muchly. :D**

Chapter 14: The Winchesters

Sam limped over to where his brother lay prone. He eased himself down on his left leg, checked Dean for a pulse, found it, and sighed in relief. "He's okay," he said to Reid.

Except that Reid had gone out into the hallway.

"Reid?" Sam groaned as he got back up on his feet. He shuffled awkwardly out of the room. Reid was almost to the end of the hall. Sam cast a worried look at Dean, but pulled the door closed and followed the FBI agent.

Reid held his gun out in front of him, ready in case Morgan came at him as he rounded the corner. His hands shook fiercely, and he was sure his heart was hammering its way out of his chest. He sucked in a deep breath to calm his nerves—a trick Morgan had suggested. The second breath turned into a sigh. He couldn't explain how, but he knew that Celeste was far away from the hotel.

The cellphone in Reid's pocket rang, making him jump and nearly drop his gun. He shook his head at his own jitters, then put the safety on the weapon before pulling out the phone. By this time, Sam had caught him up.

Sam watched the agent for a moment, before asking, "Aren't you going to answer that?"

Reid shook his head. "It's just JJ calling to tell me that the others are on their way here. We have to focus on finding Morgan and Celeste. " He turned his head toward Sam. "They won't understand any of this. I barely do…"

Sam nodded. He knew exactly what Reid meant. If the rest of the BAU arrived while he, Dean, and Reid were still at the hotel, there would be too much explaining and questioning. It was easier if they didn't wait.

Reid frowned. "It's like I can hear her," he said softly, turning his head away from Sam again.

"I know. I can, too,"

"She keeps saying a name…Hazel?" Reid shook his head. "A street, maybe?"

The other held his tongue. He knew who Celeste was warning them against. If Azazel was behind it all…the Winchesters should have guessed as much. The Yellow-Eyed Demon was always in their shadows. Sam wanted to ask Reid about his mom, but knew that was inappropriate. "Help me get Dean off the broken table and gather up some weapons. Then we can go after them."

Reid followed Sam without answering. They lifted Dean off the debris and swung him onto the bed. Sam didn't like leaving him here alone, but Dean was out cold, and he and Reid couldn't afford to wait for him to come around.

Sensing his concern, Reid said, "He'll be fine. The worst that can happen is my team finds him and takes him to the hospital."

Sam chuckled. "That's the _last_ think he'll want."

He pulled the duffel bag out from under his bed, and checked its contents. Holy water, salt, guns—everything they'd need against a demon. Though not enough if they really were about to face Azazel.

"What aren't you telling me?" Reid asked.

Sam slung the bag over his shoulder. "Let's go,"

Reid was the first one out the door. Sam cast a last look at his brother. "Last chance." When Dean didn't move, Sam left.

Morgan dragged Celeste along by her hair. She wasn't fighting him anymore; there was not point. They entered the Bergs' home through the sliding porch door. Morgan threw her onto the blood-stained couch. She sensed the presence of the other demon before he entered the room. Celeste sat up, her hand to her head. Morgan was watching her intently.

"I suppose I owe you a certain amount of thanks," the Yellow-Eyed Demon said mockingly. Celeste refused to look at him as he came around the side of the couch. He sat next to her. "Afterall," he continued, "You've done in less than two days what my minions couldn't do in 24 years." Azazel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Celeste's stomach rolled at his touch. "You've opened Spencer Reid's mind for me." He smiled.

Celeste forced herself to meet his gaze steadily. The effort caused her head to swim, but she refused to show him any weakness.

Azazel's grin turned sinister. "It's only a matter of time before he comes here looking for you." He got up. "Make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

Morgan grabbed Celeste by her hair and dragged her over to the piano. He used the handcuffs hooked in his belt to restrain her hands behind her back and around one of the piano's legs. He smiled at her, but no emotion showed in his jet-black eyes. Celeste knew better than to try to appeal to the man trapped behind the demon.

Once he had turned his back, she squeezed her eyes closed and imagined Reid's face. _Stay away!_

Sam and Reid stopped dead in their tracks and met each other's gaze. Without a word between them, they acknowledged hearing Celeste's warning, and also decided to ignore it.

They were two blocks from the Berg home. The Impala sat at the curb; Sam did not want the demons to know they were coming, and that car was as recognizable to their enemies as the Winchesters's faces. The plan was to take Morgan by surprise, but Sam had a sinking feeling that they weren't just expected, but were doing exactly what Azazel expected. He looked at the jittery FBI agent and wished Dean was standing his Reid's place. He didn't know if he could trust Reid to hold under pressure, or if he would buckle. He'd held his own fairly well so far, and he had a badge to his credit, but Sam was still hesitant to take him into battle, so to speak.

"I'm a good shot," Reid said. "I practice a lot."

If that was meant to be reassuring, it wasn't.

Sam dropped the bag on the grass in front of a pleasant little bungalow. He passed Reid a bottle of Holy Water, then pocketed one himself.

"It won't hurt him, will it? The exorcising, I mean."

Sam shrugged. "It depends how strong the demon is. Sometimes…" he trailed off.

Reid knew the rest of the sentence: _Sometimes the host dies._

"Ready?"

Reid nodded.

They crossed the street.

Azazel watched the street through the kitchen window. There was no way The Winchesters and the FBI boy could sneak up on the house, but he wanted them to think they were. He went out the kitchen door to the garage to await them outside.

Sam took point as he and Reid hurried up the driveway. The plan was to go through the front door, since anyone inside the house would see them sneak around to the back, anyway.

Reid could hear Celeste's worried thoughts. He wished he knew how to block them out.

"Listen, Reid. When we go in, you're gonna have to distract your friend while I recite the exorcism spell."

"What about the one waiting on the back porch?"

Before Sam could answer, Morgan opened the front door. "What are you waiting for? Come in!"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 15: The BAU

"He's alive," Prentiss said, after checking the unconscious man's pulse. "Looks like there was a fight, but I'd say he was moved." She swept her arm toward the shattered table.

The man grabbed Prentiss's wrist, twisted her arm behind her back, and pulled a knife from his pocket. He held the blade to her throat. "Who are you?" he demanded gruffly.

Hotch and Rossi whipped their guns out. The man ducked his head behind Prentiss, but kept his eye on the two agents.

"Let her go," Hotch ordered.

"Who are you?" the man asked again.

Rossi sensed the other man's confusion. "We're FBI agents, son. You'd better put down the knife."

"Prove it! Take out your badge slowly," he said in Prentiss's ear.

"Okay, just take it easy," she replied, reaching for her badge. She pulled it out and flipped it open so the man could see.

Rossi watched him give it a quick study. The way the man's eyes flicked over the badge, Rossi knew he was versed in differentiating fake from real.

The man caught Rossi's eye. "Are you with Reid?"

"Yes," he said. "Is he here?"

"If you did anything—"

The man cut Prentiss off. "I have a feeling he's with my brother. I'm Dean," he said, releasing Prentiss, and putting the knife back in his pocket.

"Toss the weapon on the floor," Hotch said.

"I don't have time for this," Dean said, wiping blood off his forehead. "And neither do you, frankly."

"Where's Reid?" Prentiss asked.

Now that he was looking at her, he recognized her from Ralph's house. From the look in her eyes, he guessed she remembered him, too. "Sorry about that. One can never be too careful these days." Dean flashed her his trademark grin.

Prentiss tossed her hair haughtily. "People usually ask questions first; pull knives later."

Dean shrugged. "Not in my line of work, lady. If your hands are empty, you're dead."

"And what line of work would that be?" Hotch had lowered his gun, but it was still in his hand.

"Private investigator," Dean said quickly. He scanned the room for any indication of where Sam and Reid might have gone. Seeing nary a note, he frowned. "The last victim's house was pretty isolated, right? The last one on the street?"

"Sure. Why?" Rossi asked.

"We'll start there," he said, brushing past Hotch. Dean knelt next to the second bed, clearly looking for something.

Prentiss moved closer to Hotch. "Are you buying this?"

Hotch shook his head.

Dean muttered something that sounded like, "Dammit, Sammy," before getting back up. "Looks like I have to ride with you."

The three FBI agents exchanged unreadable glances, then followed him out of the room.

They drove past the Impala parked at the curb.

"I believe that's _your_ ride," Prentiss said scornfully.

Dean scowled but said nothing. "At least we know they were here,"

"Were?" Hotch asked. He was driving, with Prentiss in the passenger seat, and Rossi in the back with Dean.

"Well, I can't really tell from here if they're still around, now can I?" Dean said, matching Prentiss's tone.

Hotch pulled over in front of Ralph's house. All three agents pulled their guns as soon as they were out of the SUV.

The front door was lying in a scorched patch of grass on the lawn. As Hotch walked past it, he saw bloody fingerprints all over it. The bay window had bullet holes in it. He brought his gun up, ready to shoot anything that moved.

Dean ran past him and into the house. "Sammy!"

Hotch heard Prentiss groan behind him. He motioned for her to go around to the open garage. He and Rossi took up positions on either side of the gaping doorway.

"What do you suppose we'll find?" Rossi asked.

"I won't guess," Hotch replied, before entering the house.

"Help me!" Dean yelled at the FBI agents.

He was trying to lift a sizable bookcase off an unconscious man trapped underneath. Hotch saw the family resemblance in the trapped man's features. He and Rossi joined Dean in moving the bookcase.

"There's no one out there. More blood in the garage; looks like a struggle," Prentiss said, joining them.

"No kidding there was a struggle!" Dean yelled, lifting with all his might.

The bookcase lifted enough that Prentiss was able to drag the man out from under it. Dean let go of the heavy piece of furniture and dropped next to his brother. The bookcase was too heavy for Hotch and Rossi to hold up, so it thunked hollowly on the floor when they let go.

"Sammy!" Dean checked the cuts on Sam's face and sought any serious wounds, but found none. "Sam, come on man. Now's not the time for a nap." He checked Sam's pulse; it was normal as far as he could tell.

"Something could be broken," Prentiss offered.

"When I wake him up, he'll tell us," Dean replied, taking smelling salts from his pocket.

Sam came to the instant the pungent aroma hit his nostrils. He coughed and gagged and cringed in pain. "Why'd you do that? Unconsciousness was a good place to be."

Dean smirked at Sam, but he couldn't see it with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "I had to make sure you weren't dead,"

"Where are my agents?" Hotch demanded.

"What happened?" Dean asked gently but with deadly seriousness.

"I tried to exorcise the demon from Morgan…but I couldn't finish. Yellow Eyes dumped the shelf on me and then they took Reid and Celeste."

"Where?" Rossi asked.

Sam opened his eyes to look at the strange faces around him. He knitted his eyebrows together, silently questioning Dean.

"More FBI," he supplied.

"I don't know where," Sam admitted.

"This was a bonehead move, Sammy,"

"Yessir."

"You know where you shove that attitude. You almost got yourself killed. What were you thinking? I'd hit you, but you wouldn't feel it anyway,"

"I think some ribs are broken." Sam stated through clenched teeth.

"Not surprised. That bookshelf is damn heavy."

Hotch pulled Rossi and Prentiss aside to discuss the situation. "Call the PD," he told Prentiss. "Get the boy an ambulance." He turned to Rossi. "What do you think?"

Rossi glanced at the brothers. Sam was trying to sit up. "I think they're running a scam. Did you see how Dean scrutinized Prentiss's badge? He knows how to spot a fake. They're up to something, and Reid and Morgan are caught up in it."

"Agreed. And Celeste is helping them pull this off. She roped Reid in, but why?"

Rossi shook his head. "What do you want to do?"

Hotch exhaled heavily. "Stay with them. Try to figure out their game. See if we can get them to confess to the murders. We haven't got anything but suspicion to arrest them for. Stay wary; let's see what their next move is."

Rossi and Prentiss nodded in agreement.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Someone wanted to see the fight scene between Sam and Morgan, so…here goes…**

**Thanks to everyone still reading! And thanks for your reviews! They encourage me to keep going. Unfortunately, this might be the last update for awhile because my relatives are here for a few weeks and since they're staying in my room, I'll have limited computer access. I do have an ending in mind and it'll probably be the next chapter!**

**Hugs all around.**

Chapter 16: The Winchesters

Sam took point as he and Reid hurried up the driveway. The plan was to go through the front door, since anyone inside the house would see them sneak around to the back, anyway.

Reid could hear Celeste's worried thoughts. He wished he knew how to block them out.

"Listen, Reid. When we go in, you're gonna have to distract your friend while I recite the exorcism spell."

"What about the one waiting on the back porch?"

Before Sam could answer, Morgan opened the front door. "What are you waiting for? Come in!"

Sam turned to Reid. "This could get weird,"

"How exactly would you classify everything up to this point?"

"Just don't panic. I've done this before,"

Morgan stood watching them from the doorway, a curious expression on his face. Reid recognized it; it was Morgan's mischievous I've-got-a-secret face. "I don't think you have," Reid said.

Sam didn't waste any time; he started reciting the exorcism spell. He raised his voice, hoping that if Yellow Eyes was close enough, he would be affected, too.

Morgan screamed at them, said something in a language Reid didn't recognize, and then ripped the door from its hinges. He charged towards Sam with it. Reid fired a shot into Morgan's thigh, aimed carefully to avoid hitting any arteries. The possessed FBI man stumbled slightly, but didn't lose his feet. He threw the door at Sam. The younger Winchester went down under its weight, but quickly rolled out from under it. Blood oozed out of a cut on his forehead.

"Morgan! Stop!" Reid shouted.

Morgan turned on him, his expression blank. He grabbed Reid by the front of his shirt and hurled him across the lawn. He hit the ground and rolled until finally stopping in front of the garage. Dazed and bruised, he sat up slowly.

Sam blocked Morgan's fist, as he restarted the exorcism chant. Morgan caught Sam's swinging arm, twisted it, then head-butted him. The impact connected with the wound Sam had received from the door, and he fell to the ground, stunned. Morgan went for the door. Sam crawled away, but the door came down on his back over and over again.

Reid got to his feet. He aimed his gun at Morgan's head, then his shoulder, then lowered the weapon. He couldn't bring himself to shoot his friend again. Instead, he charged across the grass in a half limp and tackled Morgan. Both men toppled over; Reid was light, but his momentum was enough.

Sam slowly stood up.

"Get Celeste!" Reid yelled, just before Morgan punched him in the nose, breaking it.

Reid fought back with a fierceness he didn't know he had. He pummelled Morgan's arms, shoulders and face until he was able to scramble out from under him. "Come on, Morgan! Is that all you've got?" he said, tasting his own blood as it gushed from his nose. His voice sounded funny.

Morgan snarled, his black eyes fixed on Reid. The younger agent knew he couldn't take Morgan in a fight, but he had to keep him busy at least long enough for Sam to save Celeste. Dread wound its way through his guts, but he stood his ground. Reid blocked and ducked Morgan's swings, hoping that enough of his friend was still in there to hold back the demon from killing him with his bare hands.

Sam entered the house. Celeste was handcuffed to the piano, but looked otherwise unharmed.

"You can't leave Spencer out there alone!"

Sam shook his head. "Where are the keys?"

"He's got them,"

Sam turned to face Azazel. "Hello, Sammy. It's been awhile."

He stood his ground as the Yellow Eyed Demon came closer.

"I was just telling Celeste how long I've been waiting for little Spencer to come around to our side."

"Then you'd better save his ass before your friend pummels him into nothing on the front lawn," Sam said defiantly.

Azazel pushed Sam aside as he went closer to the window. "Damn it!"

Sam had picked the keys out of Azazel's pocket. He tossed them to Celeste as the demon grabbed him and threw him onto the floor. "Stay!" Azazel commanded, pushing the bookshelf over on top of him. Sam tried to shield his face from the toppling books, but a heavy encyclopedia impacted his forehead, knocking him out cold.

"Sam!" Celeste cried. She waited til Azazel was outside before using the keys. She had just freed herself when Azazel returned, Morgan behind him with an unconscious Reid over his shoulder.

The Yellow Eyed Demon tilted his head to the side in mocking disappointment. Celeste backed against the piano. She had nowhere to go.

"That was a bonehead move, Sammy," Dean scolded him. "What were you thinking?"

"Look…I do know where they are. But what are we going to do about them?" Sam indicated the FBI agents speaking in low voices with a nod of his head.

"I haven't figured that out yet,"

"Why did you bring them here?"

"I had no choice, Sammy. They came to the hotel room, found me amongst the debris, _and_ you took my car!"

"Nothing happened to it."

"That's not the point!"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"So, where did old Yellow Eyes take Reid and Celeste?"

"Underground,"

"Naturally," Dean sighed. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe,"

Dean helped Sam to his feet. He swayed a bit, but otherwise was able to stay upright.

"You probably shouldn't—" Prentiss started, but Dean waved his hand at her.

"I can manage," Sam said.

"I called an ambulance,"

"Don't need one," Sam said with a grimace as he took a couple of steps.

"Uh, you don't want to go to the hospital with broken ribs?" she countered.

"Nope." Sam gave her a stubborn smile.

"Thanks for your help, officers. We can take it from here," Dean proclaimed, following Sam out the door.

Prentiss made to follow them, but Hotch held her back. "Let them go; I have an idea."

Sam gave Dean the Impala's keys after unlocking the passenger side door. He eased himself into the car. He slammed his fist into the dashboard, as he doubled over in pain, his other arm hugging his chest.

"I hate to say it, Sammy—"

"Then don't. Just drive. Back to the place you found me a couple of nights ago. By the park."

Dean watched his brother for a few moments longer, before turning over the engine. Sam stayed hunched over for the brief ride to the park. He waved Dean away when he tried to help him out of the Impala. The elder Winchester popped open the trunk, and dug out the weapons he felt they'd need.

Sam joined him, still holding his arm across his ribs. "We're gonna need Holy Water after this trip," Dean said. He handed Sam a bottle and a gun.

Dean's brother tucked the Holy Water into his back pocket, and then took the safety off the gun. "There's a sewer entrance a little ways in."

"Of course there is,"

They walked in silence for a few minutes until Sam pointed into the treeline. Dean went in first, holding a branch up. The sewer pipe loomed up ahead. "You know, I wish—just once—that a demon would take up residence in a nice cabin by the lake."

Sam looked at Dean askance, then laughed. "Sure. 'Cause there aren't enough crappy movies about serial killers hiding out in a cabin in the woods."

"I just mean it would be nice not to feel slimy after sending one of these things back to Hell once in awhile."

The younger of the two brothers nodded in agreement. "Yeah,"

"Are you sure you're okay to take these guys on? They seem to enjoy waling on you."

Sam shrugged. "Then I guess I'll keep them occupied while you exorcise them."

Dean frowned, but nodded. He felt uncomfortable taking Sam into the fray not knowing that he could hold his own. They observed each other for a few moments, each reading the other's expression easily. Sam was determined to go in, and Dean was reluctant to let him.

"If you need help, don't hold back. Scream like a girl. Got it?"

"I'll be fine," Sam said stubbornly.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: OK, this isn't the last chapter. I know I said it would be, but it's taking a long time for me to wrap it up. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 17: The BAU & the Winchesters**

Hotch saw the two men go into the sewer pipe. He waved his team ahead, to follow them. The sewer split in two directions fifteen feet in. Prentiss and Rossi took the east tunnel, while Hotch and JJ went west. A few minutes later, Hotch stopped suddenly. JJ almost walked into his back. She peered around her boss to see why he had stopped and lowered his gun. JJ gasped.

Morgan was lying unconscious—or dead—just ahead of them.

Hotch raised his gun again, listening closely to the dripping of water, and JJ's quick breaths. "Stay close," he said.

JJ followed Hotch to where Morgan lay. He knelt to check for a pulse. "Morgan?" Hotch shook the other agent lightly in an attempt to wake him up. When Morgan did not stir, Hotch straightened. "JJ, call the locals, tell them to send back-up and an ambulance. Stay here with Morgan until they arrive."

JJ nodded, pulling out her phone. "There's no signal. I'll have to go back."

Hotch nodded, so she ran back to the entrance to the tunnel. JJ could not get a signal out there, either. When she returned to the spot they had found Morgan, he was awake, but Hotch was gone.

Water _drip-drip-dripped _on Reid's forehead until he finally opened his eyes. He shook his head until his hair moved out of his vision. He was tied to a support beam in an open space in the tunnels. A fuse box was protected by a metal lattice enclosure, and faint light came from the lights in the ceiling.

The man Morgan had called Azazel was watching him with his arms folded over his chest. "Good evening," he said in a Transylvanian accent, and then laughed.

Celeste laughed, too. Her eyes were completely black, just as Morgan's had been.

"Morgan…" Reid said woefully. He did not know where his friend was, but if Sam was right about the demon jumping hosts, then the creature that had once inhabited Morgan's body was now using Celeste's. Reid tried to struggle out of the rope binding his hands together behind the beam, but it was no use.

"What was that?" Azazel asked, moving closer.

Reid gathered his courage. He had been a hostage before; this was no different. He swallowed, then demanded with all the ire he could muster, "What do you want with me?"

The Yellow-Eyed Demon smiled, and it made Reid's blood go cold.

"Well, Spence, there's this whole complicated back story that I don't want to go into right now, but the part that's relevant to you goes like this: a long time ago, when you were a wee little baby, I snuck into your room and fed you some of my blood. Those weird dreams or _visions_ you've been having are all thanks to the power I gave you. Frankly I'm surprised you haven't uncovered any more abilities yet, but they'll come. Now that you're with me, you see, I'll teach you to be all that you can be, as they say."

Reid felt bile rise in his throat. He had drunk this creature's blood? "Did my parents know?" he wondered, his eyes wide, as his mind processed the demon's words. Mostly he wondered what other abilities Azazel could mean. And then he had it: his eidetic memory.

"Of course not. They'd be dead if they'd interrupted. Just ask Sammy, if you ever see him again." Azazel's smile widened. "Poor Mrs. Winchester," he said mockingly, and then he laughed.

Reid heard a shuffling sound behind him, and he turned to see what was making the noise. A tall, dark form that seemed to be made of the shadows loomed in the western tunnel. "The Winchesters approach," it said in a voice that sounded like rustling leaves.

Azazel smiled. "Get rid of Dean, but bring Sam to me,"

The shadow monster bowed its multi-horned head, and dissolved into the tunnel.

"Looks like you'll get your chance, afterall. Those boys are relentless."

Reid ignored the yellow-eyed man. His logical brain was too busy trying to make sense of what it had just seen seep back into the shadows. Such a creature only existed in fairy tales, and yet there it had been. He turned his eyes to Celeste. She had not moved since he had awoken. He needed to convince her to help him, somehow.

"Don't bother. She's possessed by a demon that exists only to serve me," Azazel stated matter-of-factly.

Reid felt his hope slipping away, like that monster from the dark.

Sam looked like hell, as far as Dean was concerned, but he was too stubborn to go back to the car. Dean appreciated his brother's back-up—when he was capable of _being_ back-up. This was just…sad. His younger brother was dragging his feet and gritting his teeth as he kept up with Dean through sheer force of will. Pain was written in neon lights all over Sam's face.

Rather than tell Sam to give up, Dean asked, "Are your Spidey senses tingling yet?"

"Nope," Sam grunted. "Wait! Did you see that?"

Dean stopped to look back at Sam. He had raised his gun toward whatever he had seen down the tunnel. "What?"

"I dunno. The…the wall moved."

Dean cocked his head to the side, and in his best mocking tone said, "Sammy, walls don't move."

Sam did his best to imitate his brother. "In our line of work, sometimes they do more than move,"

Dean rolled his eyes because he couldn't deny the truth in the statement. He turned around to keep heading to the heart of the sewer line. A blue flash of lightning shot straight at him, but he was knocked aside by Sam. The brothers rolled to their feet, Sam a little slower than Dean.

"Ah, fabulous. Emperor Palpatine came to the party," Dean muttered.

Lightning flashed toward him again, and he dodged it gracefully by diving into a puddle.

"So, Sammy, how do we defeat a lightning demon?"

"Beats me. I lost last time I met it, remember?"

Dean heard something close to a bunch of hissing snakes, and guessed the creature was laughing at them.

"Foolish Winchesters," it said.

"Sounds about right," Dean replied, before rolling out of the way of another lightning blast. He checked behind him to see if Sam was okay. His brother was digging in his pockets. He got to his feet. If Sam had an idea, then it was Dean's job to keep the creature busy. "Christo!" he shouted at it.

Hissing snakes were the reply.

Dean cautiously moved forward. He wanted to see what was attacking them. The lightning had stopped, for now. Maybe the creature was out of juice. "Tell me about yourself. I'm guessing you're not from around here,"

"Where I come from, we eat pathetic mortals like you and gnaw the bones!" it whispered in its rustling-leaves voice.

Lightning flashed again, and hit Dean's left arm. He crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain, and cradled the arm close to his chest.

"Sammy," he whispered. "Whatever you're doing, hurry it up!"

"I need a lighter!" Sam whispered back.

Dean fished the book of matches he had taken from their hotel room out of his pocket, and tossed them to his brother. When he looked back, the shadow beast was moving closer, seeming to swallow the darkness off the walls as it did.

Dean stood slowly. "Do you have a name, beautiful?"

The creature tilted its head, studying him. "My name?"

Dean flashed his trademark grin. "Sure! I'd like to know the name of the thing that killed me. Courtesy, you know?"

He could see it narrow the dark swirling pits of its eyes. The shadow beast had spent many years as prey before it learned to hunt. It distrusted humans, but one had never asked its name before. After a few moments of contemplation, it replied, "I have many names. In your tongue, the closest would be Varolashu."

Dean filed that info away for later. If he made it to later.

Sam appeared at Dean's side. He lit a match and held it in front of his left hand as he blew some sort of powder at Varolashu. Fire flared up as the powder hit the flame and doused the shadow monster. In the brief light, Dean made out a crown of horns that curled up towards the ceiling. The creature screamed, and it sounded like rushing water. Then it vanished.

"Dead?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Then let's move along,"

Prentiss and Rossi crouched in the mouth of the eastern tunnel. From her vantage point, Prentiss could see Reid; he had dried blood on his face, and his hands were tied behind him around a support beam. Celeste was standing off to the side, unrestrained but unmoving. A tall, thin man was kneeling in front of Reid, speaking low enough that Prentiss could not make out the words.

Anger flared up as Prentiss watched Reid's expression grow more and more distressed. The last time he had been captured, he had nearly died. Prentiss remembered well the fear that had gripped her heart when Tobias Hankel had tortured Reid while the BAU was miles away, helplessly watching it on a live internet stream. The ordeal had made him into a drug addict. She would not sit here and let him fall into that pit again. She rose to her feet, gun at the ready, and went in.

Rossi had only a split-second to decide if he would follow her or wait for Hotch's signal. The choice was obvious, but he did not like going into this situation. Something was wrong here, he could feel it. Taking down the man—Azazel, someone had called him—was going to be a lot harder than a bullet to the chest.

"Freeze, scumbag! FBI!" Prentiss shouted.

Azazel tilted his head to the side, and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as he straightened from his crouch.

Reid knew the man was unarmed, but he also knew that he didn't need a weapon to attack with.

"Prentiss, don't—" but Reid's warning was too late.

Prentiss was thrown against the ceiling and pinned there before Azazel even turned around. She dropped her gun on impact, and stared down, wide-eyed, as Azazel strolled casually beneath her.

"Hey!" Rossi said, but he was not sure how to proceed. He didn't know how Azazel was able to hold Prentiss on the ceiling. He didn't want to know. He fired a shot at the other man's chest.

Azazel grunted and doubled over on impact, but Prentiss stayed where she was. Rossi aimed for another shot, this time to the head, but before he could pull the trigger, a whirlwind of shadow enveloped him.

"NO!" Reid shouted, remembering the vision he had shared with Sam in which Rossi had died. He struggled against his bonds, but he could not break them.

Rossi emptied his clip into the whirlwind, but nothing pierced the shadows. He could hear rustling leaves; it was so loud that he clamped his hands over his ears. He felt as if his skin was being scraped away, molecule by molecule. He could not take the pain for long. Rossi screamed.

"Celeste, please!" Reid shouted at her. "You have to help them!"

Celeste looked in Rossi's direction, and took a step forward, then stopped. Azazel was staring at her.

Reid felt panicked. These supernatural beings were overwhelming to him. As a scientist, he needed to have everything explained with fact and research. He could not pull his thoughts together to fathom a theory on how a sentient creature could exist that was made out of shadows.

Rossi kept screaming. Reid had never heard anything like it coming from the man's vocal chords before. Worse than that, though, was Azazel and Celeste smiling as they watched.

Reid remembered something Celeste had told him about needing to be calm in order to touch another person's mind. He had to focus. He had to get through to her. Reid took a deep breath, and banished his fear to a back corner of his brain. He spoke her name in his mind, all the while staring straight at her.

Her sadistic smile faltered and she looked around at him.

"Celeste—"

Azazel's fist collided with Reid's face, spraying blood from a newly-split lip onto the cement floor. "None of that," the Yellow-Eyed Demon warned.

Reid scowled at him defiantly. Azazel knew that look: fear and desperation had been replaced by a cool certainty that Reid wasn't helpless. He hit the FBI agent again. And again.

_SAM!_

The younger Winchester grabbed the elder's sleeve. "This way!"

Dean didn't argue, but he didn't let Sam take the lead, either. "You know as well as I do that there's only one way to kill that yellow-eyed bastard, and we haven't found it yet," he explained, before Sam could protest.

They hurried through the tunnel until they came up behind a man in a nice suit. He spun around, gun aimed high.

"Easy!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Where's the rest of my team? What have you done to them?" Hotch demanded.

"Nothing," Sam broke in. "How many of you came in here?"

"Four, including me,"

"Great. If you're lucky, they're not dead."

"Dean!" Sam warned. Now was not the time to irk the FBI agent.

Hotch shouted, "Don't move, either of you. You're both under arrest!"

"We don't have time for this!" Dean argued, but he kept his hands clearly visible above his shoulders.

Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder. To Hotch, he said, "I know where they are. Please, we can help them together."

"I have no reason to trust you,"

"Do you have a choice?" Dean asked.

Hotch lowered his gun.

"It's this way," Sam said, gesturing to the right.

Hotch nodded his head for the Winchesters to go ahead. Dean went first, and Sam went wincingly next. Hotch checked down the passage for any more surprises before following them.

"Reid says that Celeste's possessed," Sam told Dean quietly.

"Awesome,"

"And Varolashu is attacking the other FBI agents,"

"Great,"

"We need to hurry!" Sam insisted.

"If we run, suit-and-tie back there will shoot us."

Sam cast a glance over his shoulder at Hotch. Dean was right; if they ran, it would look like they were trying to escape, and that would result in them both getting shot. Reid was feeding him a steady stream of information concerning his situation, and then it cut off. Sam guessed the young agent must have lost consciousness. Sam's only option was to gamble, "Look, Hotch, Dave's in trouble, and if we don't hurry, he'll be dead."

Hotch frowned at Sam. There was a possibility that he had picked up Hotch's nickname, but there was no way he could have known Rossi's first name. They had not had enough interaction. "What are you talking about?" Hotch demanded, tightening his grip on the gun.

Sam was about to explain, when Dean grabbed Hotch's wrist, and slammed his hand against the tunnel wall repeatedly until he dropped the weapon.

"Dean, what the hell!"

"I told you, we don't have time for this!" Dean yelled at his brother. He turned to Hotch, whom he had pinned. "Listen to me very carefully. Things are happening to your team that I can't explain to you in any way that would make you believe me. What matters is this: your team will die unless you let us handle this our way. I can knock you out and leave you here, or you can let us go; either way, we're going to deal with this, and I won't let you interfere."

Hotch saw the seriousness in Dean's eyes. Although he did not trust the man, he nodded. He knew that Dean was right about two things: the BAU was in terrible danger, and he had no idea how to help them. Hotch nodded, and Dean released him.

"Let's go," Dean said to Sam.

Hotch watched them hurry away from him. He picked up his gun, and then went after them. He hoped JJ had gotten through to the local PD and that they were on their way.

"Dammit, Morgan, no! You can't go in there! This is all crazy and you're just going to—"

Morgan put his hands on JJ's shoulders. "JJ, listen to me. I'm fine. I need to go in there. Reid's in trouble and it's my fault. I won't abandon him. I want you to go back out to the park, and try again to get a hold of the PD. Keep trying until you get them, okay?"

JJ felt tears in her eyes. She was afraid of what was happening to Reid and the others while she was out here with Morgan. Finally, she nodded. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Trust me, I know,"

They parted ways. Morgan ran deeper into the tunnel. He vaguely recalled where he had helped Azazel take Reid and Celeste before the demon possessing his body had let him go. His insides churned as he thought about what the demon had made him do. He had to save Reid; it was the only way he could alleviate the guilt that weighed heavy on his heart.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, read, and stuck with this fic to the end! You are all awesome and I love you!**

**Chapter 18: The Winchesters & the BAU**

Dean and Sam exchanged quick glances; neither said a word because words were unnecessary. They were going into a rough situation with the odds stacked against them—in other words, another day on the job.

Sam and Hotch had swapped guns; since Sam was unable to do much damage if things got too physical, the FBI man was given the gun loaded with rock salt along with strict instructions: shoot Celeste if he had to, and then get his people the hell out of there. Hotch had been reluctant to surrender his own weapon, but it seemed too late to mount much of a protest against the Winchesters, especially with Rossi's screams ringing in his ears.

Sam was mentally reciting the words for the exorcisms.

"If it gets hairy," Dean said to Hotch, "Improvise."

Hotch frowned, but before he could say anything, Dean was out in the open. He cast one look at Prentiss pinned to the ceiling, and then followed.

"Varolashu! I believe we have some unfinished business!" Dean yelled at the shadow-whirlwind.

The shadow-beast's hissing-snakes laugh emanated out, but the monster did not relent in its assault on Rossi.

"You dare return within my reach? Foolish human! I could kill everyone in this space if I chose, and not feel fatigued," Varolashu said.

"I believe it," Sam muttered.

"Aw, c'mon, Lashie. A creature such as yourself must revel in taking vengeance!"

Hotch aimed his gun full of rock salt at Azazel. "Let them go! These are FBI agents! Do you know the kind of prison term you're looking at for assaulting them?"

Azazel laughed. "Do you think a _human_ prison could hold me? Dream on, FBI-man."

Hotch fired the gun, hitting the yellow-eyed man in the chest. Azazel stared at him, wide-eyed, as he stumbled. Prentiss plummeted to the ground, and was knocked unconscious upon impact.

Azazel reached out for Hotch, ready to tear his throat out, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam untying Reid. "Varolashu! Kill them all!"

With a flick of his wrist, Azazel sent Hotch flying across the open space and into the wall. Hotch dropped the gun, and put his hand to the back of his head. It came away bloody.

Varolashu released Rossi, who was no longer screaming. It pulled itself into a form resembling a minotaur with a crown of horns that reached to the ceiling. It tilted its head as it stared at Dean. "I will take pleasure in tearing you apart."

"I'm sure you would," Sam said, but before he could blow the powder at the monster, Celeste grabbed his arm and threw him effortlessly to the ground.

Azazel was almost out of the space, when he called for her, "G'rlan, with me!"

She turned to follow, but Sam grabbed her legs, and pulled her down on top of him. He shouted in pain as she landed on his chest, but he held on. He yelled the Latin exorcism verse through gritted teeth.

"No!" Azazel shouted, but he did not go back for her. Instead, he ran.

Dean took a step to the right, but Varolashu moved with him. The creature had a mocking look on its face.

"You're master's leaving you," he pointed out with a shrug.

"I serve no one!" Varolashu roared.

The demon left Celeste's body, and she slumped against Sam. Reid crawled toward them, and took her in his arms. "Are you alright?"

Sam nodded, and then he winced. "I've had worse,"

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't be."

Just then, Morgan ran into the space, gun drawn. His eyes widened when he saw the shadow-beats, but the shock wore off quickly, and he emptied his clip into its swirling chest. Dean leapt out of the way just in time. Varolashu was not wounded, but it hissed at Morgan, and moved towards him.

"Varolahu! If you serve no master, then why do you continue to follow Azazel's orders? He's already abandoned you!" Sam shouted.

The shadow-beast stopped, and turned to look at the younger Winchester over its shoulder. Without a word, it oozed into the shadows and was gone.

"What. The. Hell?" Dean said, looking down at his wounded brother.

Sam shrugged. "It was worth a shot,"

Dean shook his head, and then helped Sam to his feet. Sam fought hard not to throw up from the pain.

Morgan strode toward them with his gun aimed at Dean. "What just happened?"

"Morgan, it's okay. You can let them go. Sam needs to go to the hospital. They're on our side; it's okay," Reid explained.

The other agent put his weapon away. "Are you alright, Kid?"

Reid nodded. He shifted his attention to Celeste. She was still unconscious, but he could feel that she was alright. Reid smoothed her hair away from her face. "Can you carry her out of here?"

Morgan looked at Reid's bloodied face, and nodded. He gently lifted Celeste, as Hotch joined them. He offered his hand to Reid, to help the younger man to his feet. The group left the sewer tunnels with the Winchesters in the lead.

JJ and some members of the local PD met them at the exit tunnel. The sheriff waved the paramedics forward.

"What the hell happened in there?" he asked, as he surveyed the group.

"Nothing that can ever go in an official report," Hotch replied.

A few days later, Sam was discharged from the hospital, and the Winchesters were ready to be on their way. Sam had his arm in a sling, and he was still moving slowly due to his fractured ribs, but he was insistent on leaving.

The BAU had already returned to Quantico, but Reid had stayed behind. He wanted to make sure Sam was okay before he left, and he was reluctant to say goodbye to Celeste. Reid still walked with a bit of a limp, but for the most part, he was recovered, as well.

It was a cloudy afternoon at the motel. Reid hobbled over to where Celeste was watching the Winchesters load up their car. She reached out for his hand as he approached. He gladly entwined his fingers with hers.

"Where will they go now?" he wondered aloud.

"Where ever they're needed. It's the nature of their work."

Reid nodded. After a brief silence, he asked, "How are you?"

Celeste smiled at him. "Better. Much better,"

Reid's heart did a flip-flop in his chest as their eyes met. He became hyper aware of the feel of her fingers between his. "Everything's different," he blurted out. "I mean—everything I knew about how the world is, all the science I've come to trust in…" He shook his head. "There are other things that science can't explain. Like that shadow creature! What _was_ that? Will it come back? Now I have to watch out for demons in our unsubs. But I get it—what you said before, when you said you were sorry. You knew that my whole system of belief would be turned upside down."

Celeste gave his hand a squeeze. "That's not entirely what I meant."

He furrowed his brows. When she didn't elaborate, he said, "Will I see you again?"

She kissed his forehead. "I don't see why not,"

Sam came over to say his goodbyes. Celeste released Reid's hand and gave the younger Winchester a hug.

"You saved our lives," Reid stated. "I don't know how to thank you for that."

"None needed." Sam shrugged. "It's what we do. It's hard to explain to people, but it's what we do."

Reid nodded. "Are there others that…hunt monsters, like you?"

"A few," Sam said with a nod.

The FBI agent didn't know what to say to that.

"Well, we're off," Dean said, joining them. "It's been," he paused, then shrugged, "one of those things,"

Celeste hugged him. "Be safe,"

"We try," he smirked.

Reid shook Dean's hand. "Thanks,"

"Anytime. Let's go, Sammy."

"See you around," Sam said with a wave.

"You know how to find me," Celeste replied.

"Keys?" Sam asked Dean.

"Oh ho! Not this time, Ole One Arm!"

"That's not funny!"

Celeste smiled at the two arguing brothers. "I hope they never lose that,"

Reid nodded, knowing that she meant their camaraderie. Reid and Celeste watched the Winchesters drive away. Dean honked the horn as they turned out of the parking lot.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to call Garcia and get a flight back to Quantico," Reid said sadly.

Celeste took his hand again. "You'd better answer your phone first," she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

He frowned, but before he could say anything, his phone rang. "Hello?"

"_Mr. Reid?"_

"Speaking,"

"_This is Doctor Thorne at Bennington Sanitarium. I'm calling about your mother. There was an accident—a fire. She…she died, Mister Reid. I'm very sorry for your loss."_

The phone slid out of Reid's hand. The world was spinning wildly out of control. He felt disconnected from his body. Reid was vaguely aware of Celeste speaking to him in a hushed, gentle voice, but he had no clue what she was saying. He sank to the pavement in shock.

Celeste put her hands on Reid's face. Tears spilled from his eyes and ran like little rivers down his cheeks. He couldn't speak, but he didn't have to. She pulled him into a hug, but he did not respond. She held him until his sobs died and her shoulder was soaked.

Finally he pulled away from her, and said, "I have to go home,"

"Yes,"

"You knew all this time?"

"Yes,"

Reid thought for a moment that he should be angry about that, but realized it was futile. What could he have done if he had been there? "Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

**THE END.**


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